Mad World
by ZairaDuvessa
Summary: A year and a half after the Joker incident, a new serial killer is terrorizing Gotham, keeping both Batman and the police busy. Unfortunately for Nicole Miller, she just might be the killer's next victim. Hints of Bruce/OC Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything from the Batman World. I only own my main character Nicole. If I did, I'd be a very rich girl. But, alas, this is just for fun. Enjoy.

**AN:** The first 9 chapters have been re-edited for grammatical errors that were never caught. You can re-read if you like but there isn't any new content.

* * *

"_Their tears are filling up their glasses_

_No expression, no expression"_

_-Mad World _by Gary Jules

* * *

The night was quiet. Far too quiet for the section of town down by the docks. The young red head was crouching behind dingy black barrels, her long, fiery hair sticking to her face as a result of the mixture of humidity and the blood from her wounds. She was waiting--waiting for an escape. Her ears strained to hear his footsteps, but all she could hear were her own ragged and pained breaths along with the gentle lapping of waves against the battery. Was it possible he hadn't followed her? Had she really gotten away from him that easily? She leaned against the barrels as she tried to calm herself. A few days ago life had been easy. She had been having fun with her friends, going to classes, kissing her boyfriend. God, how she missed her boyfriend. But then she had met _him_.

No I can't think of what he did, the young red head decided. Instead, she focused on her next move. All around the abandoned building stood a fence at least ten feet high with barbed wire on top. There was no way she could scale that with her injuries. But then she saw it; the small hole in the fence not far from the battery. She could just fit! She could crawl through it and escape! She could swim until she was far enough away not to be seen and get help. She would finally be free.

She started crawling behind the row of barrels. This was going to be easier than she'd planned. She was almost there. She was going to make it! It was then she felt the sudden pain erupt from her head as she was yanked from her knees by her hair.

"Ah, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda. Did you really think I'd let you get away so easily," the baritone voice cooed.

"Please! Please! Let me go! I promise I won't tell anyone! Ever. No one at all. I'll lie about where I was," Miranda pleaded.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's okay. I know you won't," the man said in an almost comforting voice. He smiled a smile that would have been a charming smile if it would have been anyone but him.

As she struggled, he began to sing, his deep voice pleasant and soothing. "Let's say goodbye with a smile dear. Just for a while dear. We must part. Don't let this parting upset you, I'll not forget you, sweetheart…"

It was then that she saw the silver glint of the knife. She screamed as it slashed her throat. She felt the warm, hot liquid spew from it. She felt weak. Then everything faded to black.

Miranda Johnson knew no more.

* * *

Commissioner James Gordon slowly rose from the car, catching a whiff of salty sea air and fetid stench. A local vandal had found the body around three a.m. near Gotham Rock, Gotham City's most prominent water side park. It was in the better part of town, so they say. Sure, you might find a few cases of vandalism from wayward teenagers, maybe even the occasional mugging--but a body? That was definitely out of the ordinary for this part of town. Which was part of the reason Jim Gordon was here this morning. As he was lost in his thoughts, a tall, lanky detective with glasses perched on his nose approached him.

"Commissioner, the CSI's are wrapping up. So far the preliminary reports match the other victims. Do you want to see the body?" Randall Pruitt asked with a hardness to his voice that never met his eyes. In fact, this kid--for he couldn't have been more than 22--looked like he was about pass out.

"Thanks Randy. I'll make my way over there. Tell the guys they can take a break," Jim replied casually. It looked as if half the team were going to vomit, and, if the stench was any indication, he probably wouldn't be far behind them. Gordon ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, relieved to be alone. The girl, if you could call her that, was mutilated. It was easy to tell how she was murdered for the gaping opening in her neck showed the sinewy tissue below that was half rotted by days spent in the water. One of her arms was twisted at an unnatural angle, rope burns adorned her ankles and wrists, and the rest of her body was filled with what he supposed would be cuts and bruises. There was no telling what internal injuries she would have. Her body was bloated and had just entered the stages of decomposition when she washed ashore. The only thing lifelike was the long, fiery mane with muck tangled in and the wide open dead green eyes.

"Another one?" a gruff voice asked from the shadows. Ah, the real reason Gordon asked his crew to take a break--the Batman. Although he was still outlawed from the supposed murders that he had committed, Gordon found himself consulting the man, if you could call him that, regularly. Granted, for the first year after the Joker's reign of terror, there hadn't been much out of the ordinary--the typical mob business and trouble in the narrows seeing as how all the escapees were never caught. In the past six months, it seemed a new problem had arisen, and Gotham was once again being plagued by a serial killer.

Without turning, Gordon solemnly replied "Yeah, another one. Her physical description and the tattoo on her lower back match. Her name was Miranda Johnson. Age twenty. Student at Gotham University majoring in political science. She was the typical All-American girl--worked at the campus bookstore, came from a middle class family, member of the Delta Zeta sorority. In fact, the last time she was seen was three weeks ago by her boyfriend, Alex Harper. She left a party at the local fraternity a little tipsy and decided to walk back to her dorm, which was across campus."

"Has Harper been cleared?" the giant man bat asked.

"No. We're bringing him in now. But you and I both know Harper probably didn't do this," Gordon replied.

The Batman was quiet for a moment as he seemed to take in the body. "Same M.O. as the other girls, the throat was slashed. But they were left in public places."

"Right. She washed up. Maybe she fell into the water after that storm a week ago. It would be consistent with the preliminary time for decomposition. It still looks like Zsasz."

"Maybe," came the reply from the shadows.

"We have to find him," Gordon said with conviction as he turned around. But it was no use. The Batman was already gone. With a sigh, Jim Gordon took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. Sometimes the Batman made him doubt his own sanity and whether or not he belonged in Arkham for trusting him.

**AN:** Hope you guys liked that. There will be more to come. If you want to know the name of the song that the killer is singing, it was popular during WWII. Its "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn. Check it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: As usual, I don't own Batman or anything associated with Batman. But I do own Nicole, Becky, Alex and whatever other characters that are mine. Sadly, I don't make money off of them either.

**AN:** The first 9 chapters have been re-edited for grammatical errors that I didn't catch. None of the content has changed so there's no need to re-read the chapters unless you want to.

* * *

"_Bright and early for the daily races_

_Going nowhere, going nowhere"_

_-Mad World _by Gary Jules

* * *

She was woken from her blissful slumber by a loud, repetitive beeping. Cracking an eye open, Nicole searched for the offensive noise before realizing it wasn't her alarm clock. A peak at the time told her it was 6 A.M. Great, she thought. She didn't have to be up for at least another hour. She tried to settle back into bed as the beeping from her roommate's alarm continued. Clearly, Rebecca either hadn't come home last night or hadn't awoken. After another five minutes of lying with the pillow clamped over her head, Nicole begrudgingly left the warmth of her tiny bed. She was going to kill that damn alarm clock if it was the last thing she ever did.

Without bothering to knock, Nicole barged into her roommate's room and unplugged the offending machine. She turned to see her roommate still in the blissful throws of sleep. Well that just wouldn't do.

"Becky, rise and shine." No answer. "Becky. Time to get up, you're going to be late." That elicited a grunt. Quickly abandoning all patience, Nicole picked up the stray pillow and whopped her roommate in the head with it.

"Ugh, what is with you," the half asleep curly haired vixen mumbled.

"Becky, you're late," was all Nicole had to say.

"Oh Shit," Rebecca exclaimed as she scurried from the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Rebecca was a brilliant and beautiful engineering graduate student at Gotham University. Despite her beauty and her brains, she had a nasty habit of being late to everything--including important Monday morning teleconferences.

Nicole stalked back to her room and collapsed back into bed. She wasn't what you would call a morning person. Just as sleep started to claim her, Rebecca's cell phone alarm, always set as a backup, began time chime.

"Great," she mumbled through clenched teeth.

Realizing that sleep was futile, Nicole turned her own alarm off before it went off and climbed out of bed. She collected her clothes and made her way to her own bathroom to get ready for the day ahead.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth went about his usual morning routine of making breakfast for his master. After mixing the strange concoction that his master drank--he wasn't quite sure how his charge could drink the foul smelling thing--he placed it on the tray along with a variety of fruit and toast. One look at the _Gotham Daily_'s front page headline told him where his young master would be.

After making his way through the maze of corridors of the newly rebuilt Wayne Manor, Alfred descended into the Bat Cave. He took note of the discarded cowl and gloves and looked toward the massive computing area. He could see the top of his master's head sticking up from the back of the chair as he researched something on the massive screens.

"Good morning, master Wayne," he said, sitting the tray down on a nearby table. "I assume it was an uneventful night"

His young charge never even looked away from the computer screen.

With a sigh, Alfred realized that whatever Bruce Wayne was researching had his full attention and that it would be best to leave him undisturbed. Before making his way back up to the massive manor he turned and gazed impassively at his young charge.

"Master Wayne, do remember to eat your breakfast. And try to remember that you have a meeting at 10 AM at the office today. Lucius will get rather cranky if you miss it."

With that, the aging butler turned and ascended the stairs, leaving the much younger man to his work.

* * *

Nicole bounded down the stairs of her townhouse and headed toward the kitchen, only stopping to turn on the TV. The young brunette had virtually the same routine every morning--wake up, shower, eat breakfast with the news, then it was off to work. Her first task was to get a glass from the cabinet. Stretching on her tip toes, the 5'3" woman managed to grab a glass from the back corner. She was on the short side of average, if not just plain short all together. She was an average, healthy weight, though she would never be considered thin by celebrity standards. That was fine by her. She liked food too much.

Opening the refrigerator she poured herself a cup of soda since she was craving caffeine--it was the one vice she actually had--and selected the remnants of last night's pizza for breakfast. She carried her selection to the couch in the other room, where she proceeded to stretch out, eat, and listen to the news. That was until she was hit in the head with a rolled up newspaper.

"Sorry Nikki! You know I have bad aim!" Rebecca said laughing. "I'm on my way out. Want to meet for dinner this afternoon at our typical place?"

Swallowing the last bit of pizza in her mouth, she nodded. "Sure, sounds great."

At her answer, Rebecca, curls bouncing behind her, walked out the door to start her day. For Nicole's part, she unrolled the _Gotham Daily_ and studied the headline that proclaimed "Sixth Body of Calendar Killer Found." She read over the article briefly before laying the paper down and getting up to discard her trash. Realizing the time she walked into the living room to turn off the TV when the news report caught her attention

Pictures of Bruce Wayne with his latest arm candy fluttered across the screen. She really didn't understand the media's, or her co-workers' for that matter, fixation on the man. Sure he was attractive. Sure he was rich. But did we really need to know every single moment of his life? She briefly thought if the media could, they would go so far as to sell his half eaten sandwich on E-Bay. With a laugh she turned the TV off and collected her things. She had places to be.

* * *

Gordon sat in his office, staring at the latest victim's pictures, trying to find something. Detective Pruitt was bringing Alex Harper in for routine questioning within the next few minutes. The longer Gordon stared at the pictures, the more convinced he became that the Harper kid couldn't have done it. Why kill five other women first if you wanted your girlfriend dead? Sure it could have been for practice but the boy didn't seem like the type. A rap on the door caused him to look up.

"Sir, Harper is here. I put him Interrogation Room 1. He's waiting for you." Pruitt said. The commissioner nodded to him and followed the man down the hall and into the interrogation room.

In front of him sat a man around the age of 19. His blue eyes were red and swollen and he was pallid. The man with dark, spiked hair would be considered attractive and would have virtually no trouble picking up women. His shirt, bearing the letters of the Gamma Sigma Fraternity, virtually ensured the fact that he would have access to plenty of girls. Gordon briefly wondered why and if a guy like this could kill.

"Alex Harper. It says that you knew Miranda Johnson. Is that correct?" Gordon asked the young man.

"She is -_was_- my girlfriend," he replied, tiredly.

Gordon felt sorry for the boy. It was obvious he had cared at least. "Have you had any fights recently? Did you cheat on her? Did she cheat on you?"

"Wha-no! She would never. Geez I would never! I loved her," Alex exclaimed, his face hardening.

Gordon sighed, then said, "I know this is hard Alex. But I need to ask these questions. Now, do you know anyone that would want to hurt Miranda?"

Alex thought for a minute before saying "No. I can't think of anyone. She had the typical disagreements with her sorority sisters over silly things like who was going to be the designated driver or something. Stupid shit. But they would never hurt her. They loved her. Did you know she was president elect of Delta Zeta for the next year? No. They wouldn't have hurt her. She was nice to everyone."

Gordon nodded. After more routine and in depth questioning, Gordon didn't think that this guy was behind anything more severe than recreational use of pot. "Well then, I guess you're free to go."

Alex nodded and wordlessly walked to the door. Before exiting he turned back to face Gordon with a look of intense despair. "Commissioner, find who did this. Find who killed her," and with that, Alex walked out the door.

* * *

He sat on the patio of the coffee shop he frequented enjoying the light summer morning breeze. So they finally found her, he thought as he took a sip of his iced latte. He had left her perfectly positioned on the battery wall. It looked as though she was enjoying the view. He hadn't counted on the storm to come up and wash her body away. It pained him to think that his art was ruined. It would be alright though. There were other girls, but more importantly, other holidays. In fact, one was coming soon.

* * *

**AN:** Ok guys, I know this chapter was a bit slower. The good stuff is coming, but you know, plot development and all that fun stuff. The next chapter will have more Bruce in it. Also, I know the chapters have been a little short so far. They will get longer. I know where I want this to go, I'm just getting some of the initial stuff out of the way. But hopefully, those of you that are reading it, if there is anyone reading it, enjoy it so far. Leave a review if you like. Though not required, they are appreciated. I like to know if I'm doing well since its the first fanfic I've ever really done.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters associated with Batman, only Nicole.  
**AN**: I fixed a few grammatical errors in this chapter that I missed when I initially edited it. There's no new content, so there's no need to re-read it unless you really want to.

* * *

_"It's in your head, in your head_

_Zombie, Zombie"_

_Zombie – _The Cranberries

* * *

Nicole yawned widely as she leaned her head against the gray headrest that adorned the seat of her cherry red Chevrolet Blazer. She hated morning commutes with a passion. Being a small town girl, she was used to just getting in her car and going wherever she needed to with minimal waiting. Even though she had been in Gotham for six months, she still wasn't used to the traffic, and was currently sitting on the Aparo Expressway with traffic at a standstill due to an early morning wreck that she still couldn't see. Sure, she probably should have taken the train, which wasn't that far of a walk from her complex near Gotham University, but she typically preferred driving as it gave her time to think.

The sun was suddenly blotted out as the sound of a jet engine roared in her ears. She smiled as she sat watching the Boeing 777 land at Gotham's Archie Goodwin International Airport. That was a place she remembered fondly from her arrival in early January. It was one of the busiest airports in the entire world, easy for a small town girl to get lost in it. She would have spent hours there if she could have. After all, it was partly the reason why she was in Gotham.

Nicole thought back to her days at home. She was from a small town in South Carolina that few people had even heard of. She had graduated from high school, with honors, and went to one of the biggest colleges in her state along with the rest of her friends. It was a fairly respectable school, all things considered, and she had arrived full of hope. Her life was going to change. Only it hadn't changed. She still had the same friends, the same enemies, and the same problems in life. She loved history, which is why she had began majoring in it, but she never felt comfortable being in the program or even at the school itself. Sure she did all of the typical things; went to parties, took road trips with her friends, joined organizations--but her friends soon started getting married and starting families—most while they were still in college. The reality that the people she had grown up with just wanted a small town life and that most had never really tried to live their lives to the fullest made her come to a realization--that wasn't what she wanted. Oh, she was for having children and a husband one day--but she wanted excitement and to see the world first. So she took the first step and did something she had always wanted to do--she joined a flying club and took lessons. A few months later, Nicole was a bonafide private pilot and she loved every single minute of it. In fact, she loved it so much that she started taking engineering courses with the hope to switch her major to aeronautical engineering. Sure it would take longer, but she would be happy. It was all part of the plan; get the degree, be able to fly for a few years, do something rewarding in the aviation industry, but there was a slight snag. No one in the Deep South even offered an aeronautical program.

She did some digging and found that Gotham University had a program, the best in the nation in fact, and she applied right away. She was accepted for the fall semester of this year. Moreover, Gotham University had various internships that counted for credit. Nicole immediate applied for one with Wayne Aerospace, to learn the safety aspect of aviation. She was excited. Only when she has arrived in Gotham she was informed that there had been a mix up. They had accepted two people for the internship, when there was only one opening available. However, considering one of the requirements of the aeronautical program including taking six hours of business courses, Gotham University and Wayne Enterprises decided to place her in a newly available internship that would give her the remaining business course credits she needed. Her title would be administrative assistant to none other than Mr. Bruce Wayne himself. It definitely wasn't her ideal job since she had never been the type that loved to be indoors all day, but it paid, and more importantly, it gave her college credit. And from what she had heard at the time, Mr. Wayne wasn't too keen on showing up for work, let alone taking it seriously.

Nicole drummed her fingers on the wheel as traffic began moving. Yes! She wasn't going to be late after all, and maybe, she might even have time to stop for coffee!

* * *

Bruce Wayne walked into the bustling lobby of Wayne Enterprises, nodding his head with a smile at the receptionist as he did so. Although there was a look of disbelief on her face because he had arrived before 8 a.m., she quickly smiled her most flirtatious smile as she took in the man in the Armani suit. It always amazed him that almost every female--married or not--within a five mile radius seemed to flirt with him, if not outright throw themselves at him. Sure, it seemed like every man's dream to have beautiful women throwing themselves at you. It wasn't.

He made his way across the lobby and into an empty elevator. One of the perks of being early on a Monday morning was solitude. And it was solitude that he needed this morning. Stifling a yawn, he exited the elevator and made his way to his office. Once inside, he placed his things on the floor near his desk and almost fell into the seat. God, he was tired. Running a hand through his dark hair, he opened his briefcase and slipped out the manila folder containing the case information that Gordon had given him early that morning. A picture of a smiling, emerald eyed Miranda Johnson stared back at him. Beneath it, there were similar pictures of five other young women--the Calendar Killer's previous victims.

He rubbed his eyes but refused to give in to his tired state. He was running out of time. The killer seemed to have a thing for major dates and his victims were always found on a holiday, with the exception of Miranda Johnson. The bodies always had a slit throat and were always posed in some public place. So far, New Years Day, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, and now, it seemed as if Memorial Day had been the intended target.

Bruce Wayne thought about the six women. What did they have in common? The first victim, Bernice "Bunny" Robbins, was an eighteen year old prostitute from the Narrows. She was found with a party hat on and doused with confetti, sitting outside of Arthur Arena where a huge concert had taken place on New Year's Eve. The fair skinned and tiny dirty blonde had few bruises anywhere other than her neck. She was relatively unharmed except for the gaping wound on her neck. Even her makeup was still perfect. Going over the case file, he found nothing remarkable--she was identified by the music note tattoo on the inside of her hip and the navel ring she bore. Other than that, the girl had no family to speak of and only one friend, a fellow prostitute that called herself Katarina had been the only one to offer to identify the body— and even she hadn't stayed long enough for the police to question her. The coroner's report listed death by massive blood loss. It also noted that the Bunny had had intercourse within the previous 24 hours prior to her death. That wasn't very surprising for a prostitute, but something to note all the same.

He picked up the next picture of a blue eyed, black haired girl with a short punk hairstyle. The well endowed and very shapely Stephanie Jones smiled up at him from the desk, surrounded by friends and alcohol. The 20 year old was easily identified by the eyebrow and nose piercings she sported. She was found in near the expressway in Aparo Park, sitting in a swing, with a bouquet of dead and wilted roses in her arms--the picture of what a Valentine from the grave might look like. In addition to the bruising and the wound on her neck, she was found with burns, possibly from a cigarette. It was well known to her friends that the stripper from the Platinum Club smoked, sometimes more than just what was legal. Was it possible the killer burned her with her own cigarettes before she died? Reading the report further, it too listed that she had had sexual intercourse, though it seemed consensual as there was no forced entry noticeable. Her friends had listed her as a true wild child--into recreational drugs and random hookups among other various activities. Staring at the picture for a second longer, he placed the photo in the growing pile and picked up the next one.

23 year old Jessica York who was perhaps the Calendar Killers most eccentric victim, stared back at him straight faced. Hailing from Gotham Village, Gotham's Bohemian district, the young woman was a bartender at a downtown club--the G Spot. It was a trendy club; even he'd made an appearance there, though he couldn't recall seeing the tall, pink haired beauty. Unlike the prior victims, York was a part-time student at Gotham University where she majored in art. By all accounts she was a friendly girl who lived a relatively clean lifestyle. She drank and dabbled in pot, but so did a lot of people in this city. She had a minor arrest record, all violations for protests of some sort. By all accounts the girl was non violent. According to the coroner's report, the girl had defensive wounds with skin under her nails indicating she had tried to fight back. The DNA match had come back inconclusive of course. Her other wounds were minor compared to the throat wound, except for one. A tattoo on her shoulder had been cauterized to the point to where it was unidentifiable. Interviews with her friends told the police it was once a pair of Chinese symbols meaning peace and love. Unlike the prior victims, the report didn't indicate any sexual activity prior to death. She was found sitting on a bench outside of Killinger's Department Store, a shopping bag full of empty green boxes next to her, assumingly, in the spirit of St. Patrick's Day. No fingerprints were found.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Violence against innocents in general angered him. Violence against innocent women angered him further. With York's death, the killer was showing an escalation. He was becoming more violent. But why would he mutilate a tattoo? That didn't make sense. Sighing, Bruce picked up the next photo, one of a half smiling Anna Cox.

Anna was a dark skinned beauty with short black hair. The 23 year old was an aspiring model and had recently moved to Gotham to make her mark on the world. Unfortunately, the young woman was brutally murdered. Anna never made it to her last photo shoot, which was unlike her. When the agency called Anna's apartment, her roommate answered and stated that Anna hadn't been there the past few days. Frantic after not being able to find her, the roommate called the police and reported her missing. Two days later, Anna was found outside of Finnigan's Pub--the unofficial police watering hole as it were--in a leaning position with an empty Absinthe bottle that was filled with mini plastic Easter eggs sitting between her legs. But it was the manner in which she was found. Anna now sported ragged oversized men's clothes smeared with grease and blood, and, oddly enough, a pair of white bunny ears. The exotic beauty had been beaten savagely in the face and sported massive bruising, indicating she had been alive long enough for her injuries to set in. This meant the killer had kept her alive for some time. A toxicology report stated that massive levels of alcohol in her blood stream as well as GHB. Bruce didn't think Anna was much into body building so he was betting that GHB had been used as a so-called date rape drug. The reports did indicate that Anna had had sexual intercourse in the 24 hours prior to death; however, the report indicated that there was no physical trauma to indicate she was forced. However, if she had been drugged, then there probably wouldn't have been anything to indicate that.

Bruce cringed inwardly. GHB could be found in the right gyms and plenty of bodybuilders still used it so it would be hard to track down a supplier--hard, but not impossible. However, the fact the killer was now using drugs indicated that he had gotten smart. He either didn't want the women fighting back like Jessica York had or he was trying a new approach to pick up his victims. It was disconcerting either way—he couldn't be at every bar in Gotham City to find this guy nor would the victim be able to get away from her attacker.

The next photo was of smiling Tiffany Anders. The platinum blonde was tanned and had a body that was toned in all the right places, which made sense; she was a cheerleader for the Gotham Knights. He remembered meeting Tiffany; after all, she was invited to many of the same social events that he was. He also remembered her attitude. She was arrogant, condescending, and a shameless flirt. He'd heard the rumors as well as everyone else—that she cheated on every man she was with, that she was neurotic, and that she was reportedly a nymphomaniac. Having met the girl personally, he had to agree that she seemed neurotic and a bit of a flirt. He couldn't vouch for the last rumor.

Tiffany was found at Amusement Mile, sitting in a Ferris wheel with a Cabbage Patch doll in a cheerleader's uniform—the killer's fucked up version of an homage to Mother's Day. Her trademark curly, blonde locks were shaved off, her wrists and ankles had rope burns, her makeup was heavy and caked on incessantly. She was found in a replica of a cheerleading uniform from Brentwood Academy--Gotham's prestigious private high school. Anders herself had been a student there having graduated in the class of 2003. The 24 year old was badly beaten. Her earrings had been brutally ripped out. At least two teeth were missing after apparently taking a blow to the mouth. Her arms sported cuts. Tiffany was the only victim thus far to not have a tattoo or any piercing out of the ordinary. The rape kit had come back positive and the toxicology confirmed the presence of GHB. Although he hadn't particularly liked Tiffany, he would never have wished this upon her.

Once again, her throat was slit, this time very deep and very brutally. It seemed the killer was angry. Could it have been personal? Had they known each other? Many people knew that Tiffany had attended Brentwood. Perhaps the killer had also attended the Academy. It was something he would have to look into.

That brought him to the latest victim, Miranda Johnson. She was found washed ashore at Gotham Rock, a popular park and beach. The Gotham University student was popular, heavily involved in her campus work, and apparently had a boyfriend—the only victim to be in a relationship. The only identifiable way that Johnson had the same killer was the slit throat. Other than that, she hadn't been found in a pose like the rest. She had gone missing after a party and it was reported a little over two weeks ago. The preliminary report stated that the body had spent about a week in the water, thus Bruce inferred that the latest victim had spent about a week in the company of her killer. He would have to wait for the reports from Gordon to learn about her other injuries and any substances that may be found. He hoped there was something, but most evidence would have been washed away by now, so the chance of anything was slim.

Bruce closed the folder after making a few notes and pulled out the next. It was the official GCPD dossier for one Victor Zsasz—so far the only suspect. Zsasz was one of the most well known serial killers in the North East. He had terrorized New York City in the beginning before moving on to Metropolis. He finally settled in Gotham and continued his work until he was caught while Bruce was on his sabbatical. When Ra's al Ghul had terrorized Gotham, Zsasz had been one of the inmates to escape Arkham Asylum. He still had eluded capture and no trace of him had been found. Zsasz's M.O. was the slit throat and the posing of his victims, like art. However, these murders seemed to be a little eccentric, even for Zsasz. Never before had he dressed his victims or sexually assaulted them. Could Zsasz be killing again? Bruce had no idea. He would just have to find him.

Closing the folder with frustration and slipping it back into his briefcase, Bruce leaned back in his plush leather office chair. This case and the nights spent as Batman were taking its toll on him. He only meant to lay his head back and rest for a moment. Soon, Bruce Wayne was fast asleep.

* * *

Nicole Miller slammed the car door shut with her hip as she tried to balance her lunch cooler, messenger bag, and tray of coffee all in her hands. Setting the coffee on the hood of the Blazer, she slipped the bag over her head as well as the strap to the cooler, and picked the coffee back up. She descended the parking deck stairs, her wide boots clanking loudly as she did so. She managed to make it to the intersection of Finger and Broome without having to readjust her cargo by some miracle.

Seeing her struggle, a young blond haired man decided to offer his help. "Miss, do you need me to hold that for you so you can get your things together?"

Nicole looked up at the man and smiled. "Thank you so much," she said handing him the coffee. She adjusted the bags and held out her hands, waiting for the tray to be returned.

"Not a problem," he said, smiling at her. Suddenly the green lit word declaring WALK flashed and she bid him goodbye, lost once again in her thoughts. If the man said anything else, she never noticed. Nicole was already walking into the lobby.

If you would have told Nicole Miller a year ago that she would be an office assistant to the playboy Bruce Wayne, she probably would have laughed at you outright. As it were, she set her things down at the desk and collected the messages from the prior evening. Taking a swig of her vanilla latte, she looked at Mr. Wayne's agenda for the day. He had a meeting with Mr. Fox at 10 a.m. that had been bumped up till 9:30 a.m. She glanced at the extra coffee, glad that traffic had cleared, leaving her enough time to stop by the local drive-thru coffee shop. Feeling extra nice and happy with her morning jolt of caffeine, Nicole decided to check Mr. Wayne's office before calling him to make sure he knew about the meeting. Maybe he actually got in early today.

Rapping on the closed door, extra coffee in hand, Nicole waited for a response. Hearing nothing, she turned to leave when her acute hearing picked up a loud snore. Turning to face the door she stared at it, wondering if she had heard what she thought she had. Sure enough, there was another loud snore emanating from the room. With a snicker and a shake of the head, she opened the door to wake up her slumbering boss, lest he be late to his meeting.

The slumbering form of Bruce Wayne was an amusing one to see. Bruce's head lolled to one side, mouth wide open, loud snores emanating from him. His hair was out of place due to the fact his head was hanging down. The great playboy looked like, well a cute little boy. Nicole had to repress the urge to go and tousle his hair. As the snores grew louder, Nicole figured it was time to wake him. She was starting to feel a bit like an alarm clock this morning.

"Mr. Wayne," she called. It never even fazed him.

"Mr. Wayne," she tried louder. The snoring only grew louder. As she walked closer to Bruce, she contemplated the best way to wake him. She remembered an old friend telling her never to shake someone; you were more likely to get decked. Instead she sat the coffee cup down in front of him and started poking him in the shoulder.

* * *

Bruce Wayne was enjoying his blissful sleep until he felt something hitting his shoulder. He tried to swat away the offending pressure but it was only getting worse. He soon began to realize someone was calling his name. He opened his blue eyes only to see a pair of sparkling dark brown eyes gazing back at him. Those certainly weren't Alfred's eyes.

Startled, he sat up abruptly, bumping heads with the one that had done the waking.

"Ow!" Nicole shouted, holding her chin.

"Sorry," Bruce apologized and smoothed his suit out. "Miss Miller, I didn't expect you in so early," he simply stated, as if this were an everyday occurrence, taking in Nicole's appearance for the first time. Her layered brown hair fell below her shoulders onto the black cloth of her vest, probably something bought from Old Navy. She wore a simple white, striped shirt, and simple black dress pants. She had her chunky black, low heeled boots on that she always seemed to wear. Though he was at least a foot taller than the 25 year old brunette, the look she was giving him was incredulous. He found it fascinating that she never seemed to be intrigued by him. In fact, she often replied with sarcastic retorts. She was totally different than Jennifer, his last receptionist who was now on maternity leave. Even Jennifer had flirted shamelessly with him at work. But Nicole, or Nikki as her friends seemed to call her, rarely did. In fact, despite the brazen confidence of the young woman, she didn't seem interested in all at Bruce Wayne, let alone becoming a new member of his rabid fan club of female followers at Wayne Enterprises. For his part, this made her even more intriguing. It made him want to get to know her. But he couldn't, it was a luxury he couldn't afford. He knew it would only bring misery to her just as it had to Rachel.

"Mr. Wayne? Did you even hear a word of what I just said?" Nicole asked a little irritably.

"Er-Sorry I wasn't fully awake. What did you say?" he replied, giving her one of his most sincere smiles.

Nicole narrowed her eyes for a moment at her boss before deciding to let it go. Bruce inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to have to explain to his assistant that he was admiring her—even if he was supposed to be an infamous playboy.

"I said I'm not early, it's after 9:00. By the way, your meeting with Mr. Fox is, in oh, 15 minutes. He bumped it up to 9:30." She replied.

Bruce nodded when he caught the whiff of something positively delicious. Looking down, he saw the burnt orange cup with black lid that proclaimed it was from Java City.

"What's this?" he asked.

Nicole smiled sweetly and replied, "Well, Mr. Wayne. That's what we common folk call a cup."

Bruce stared at her for a moment before continuing. "No, I meant, what is in the cup?"

"Why, that would be coffee, seeing as how it _is_ a coffee cup Mr. Wayne." She offered, not missing a beat.

Realizing he wasn't going to win this argument, Bruce let a smile slip out. "I know that, but why is it here?" Quickly thinking better her held out his hands and shook his head. "No, don't answer that. Tell me this. Why did you bring me a cup of coffee?"

Nicole smiled and simply stated "I thought you might need it since it was early. I know I did. Don't forget your meeting at 9:30 Mr. Wayne." And with that, she turned and walked out the door.

Bruce just smiled after her, smelling her sweet and airy perfume. Nicole Miller was something interesting indeed. Someone he wanted to find out more about. Shaking the thought from his head, he gulped down the coffee and walked out the door to Lucius Fox's office.

* * *

Nicole was already entering data on her computer when her boss left his office. She watched him for a moment too long as he continued down the hallway toward Fox's office. That was one man she couldn't figure out.

She had read the tabloids, typically in the grocery store checkout line. She had heard the rumors about his swanky parties and fundraisers. She even watched with amusement as his legion of admirers swooned after him and gossiped in the break room—many of them had told her how envious of her they were. She couldn't understand why. He was a man, as simple as that; albeit, he was a very sexy and suave man. But ultimately she knew a billionaire playboy probably wouldn't be particularly interested in her. So she was herself when he was around. No sense in trying to get prettied up or act flirtatiously for a lost cause right?

But what bothered her more than anything weren't the rumors or the fan club—it was the man himself. He had to be fairly intelligent to head a corporation as large as Wayne Enterprises. She had heard the story of how he bought all the shares when the company went public. She had heard how Wayne Enterprises was profiting more now than they had the past fifteen years. And she didn't think it was all because of Lucius Fox, as great as the man was. No, something told her that Bruce Wayne was something of an enigma—even if he did act like a total prat sometimes.

* * *

Lucius Fox was a highly intelligent man of few words. It was true that he was very successful at running Wayne Enterprises. However, there were some days that he would rather be back in Applied Science rather than in meetings all day. But today he would get a reprieve. Today, Bruce Wayne was meeting with him about his "extracurricular" activities.

"Why, hello Mr. Wayne, you made it right on time, I'm impressed. What is it that you need today?" the older man smiled a toothy, knowing grin.

"Hunting accessories," the younger man evenly replied as they stepped into the elevator to applied sciences. "Specifically, night hunting."

"And what kind of accessories would those be Mr. Wayne?" Lucius replied.

"I need better night vision. What I have isn't quite cutting it, not to mention it's a bit bulky. I also need something for the utility belt. Something to keep prying hands away if you get my meaning." Bruce said.

Fox nodded. "There's a more condensed version of the goggles you carry now. I think it would be possible to wire something into the cowl like the sonar was."

Bruce wondered to himself why he hadn't thought of that sooner. "Right, it sounds great."

Fox continued. "As for the utility belt, we can set it up so that a current runs through it. Much like what's already in place with your suit."

Bruce smiled. "Sounds great. Lucius, what do you know about GHB?"

Lucius gave him a wary look. "Having trouble with the ladies, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce let out a chuckle. "Not exactly. The past few victims of the calendar murders had GHB in their system. I understand it's a date rape drug and used by some body builders. If I wanted to get it, where would I go."

Lucius thought for a minute. "I'll check into it Mr. Wayne."

Bruce nodded. "As always, thank you Mr. Fox."

"My pleasure Mr. Wayne."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman anything in his world. Only the victims, prostitutes, Nicole, and Becky. And anything else that isn't in the Batman verse.

**AN: **The first 9 chapters have been re-edited for a few grammatical errors that were missed. There isn't any new content so you shouldn't have to re-read it. But if you want to, feel free.

* * *

"_I'll stand for nothing less,_

_Or never stand again"_

_The Clincher_ - Chevelle

* * *

Nicole felt the blast of oppressive heat as soon as she opened the doors leading to the outside world that lay beyond the lobby of Wayne Tower. Cringing at the bright light, she made her way across the street and up the stairs of the parking deck to her awaiting SUV. Her air conditioning capable vehicle was a sight for sore eyes. She may have been from the Deep South, but that didn't mean that she liked the sweltering heat that had been provided courtesy of the first major heat wave of the summer season. The day had been fairly uneventful for her and she was more than ready to meet her roommate for dinner after feeling her stomach rumble. After being on the road for a few minutes, her car only seemed to be baking her in the heat that was still trapped inside. Much to her chagrin, the air conditioning didn't seem to be working. After fiddling with the dials and hitting the dash a few times, hot air continued to blow out of the vents. Great. Either the air compressor had gone out again or it was out of gas for the air conditioning. The nearly fifteen year old car was giving her more problems than she needed lately but she couldn't afford to replace it. Giving up hope of cool air, Nicole rolled the windows down as she merged onto the expressway; thankful she had missed most of the hustle and bustle of the afternoon traffic.

By the time she reached Betsy's Diner, she was almost soaked in sweat. Opening the doors to the vintage diner, she was immediately greeted with sweet air conditioning and the smell of greasy burgery goodness. Knowing where she was going, she quickly turned and found the familiar plush red leather booth and immediately sank down into the seat as it gave a hiss under the sudden weight.

Across from her, the curly haired brunette with bright blue eyes peaked over the newspaper she was reading. Unlike the _Gotham Daily_ that the pair received each morning, the _Gotham Gazette_ was the more prestigious and more informative newspaper. The mailing address located on the edge of the paper told Nicole that her roommate had snagged her copy from the mechanical engineering department of Gotham University. Without saying anything, Nicole reached into her massive bag and removed a black hair tie. Once her hair was securely placed into a loose ponytail, she grabbed a menu and glanced through it, although she didn't really need to. In reality, the roommates had eaten at the little diner that offered a view of the serene Gotham University campus at least once every week since her arrival.

"So what are you getting?" Rebecca asked leisurely, still reading the paper.

"Um…the chili cheeseburger and fries looks great. I think I'll get that." Nicole replied, biting her lip as she was thinking.

Rebecca chuckled, "Nikki, you always get that. Don't you want to live a little? Maybe try the grilled cheese, or better yet, the chicken fingers, Miss Predictable?"

Nicole, for her part, shook her head. "I'm not being predictable. I just happen to love chili cheeseburgers. Besides, it reminds me of home and the little hamburger joint that was there."

"Did you really just say that? Are you secretly from the 1950's?"

"Yeah, I did. Man, I must be getting old like you," she teased the brunette, who was her elder by a year.

Before her roommate could retort, the pink clad waitress approached the table and asked for Nicole's order. Looking at Rebecca with a wry smile, she recited her order, which was exactly what she had told her roommate it would be. Rebecca shook her head while folding the paper and set it down as she recited her order of a chicken salad for the waitress.

"So, how was Bruce Wayne today?" Rebecca asked as she smiled innocently. As a native Gothamite, she had been in disbelief that her new roommate wasn't under the billionaire's charm and frequently reminded Nicole that most women would give their right arm to be the man's assistant. She had made it routine to ask about Wayne and try to at least get her to flirt with the man, if not all out throw herself at him.

"Fine."

"I bet he was!"

"Really, Becky? Come on, even you can do better than that."

"What, he is! Seriously Nikki, why aren't you into him? Everyone worships the man. How can you seriously not want to date him?"

Sighing and realizing her friend wasn't going to let it go, Nicole formulated her reply carefully. "Becky, I agree the man is attractive, but he seems more of the type to date supermodels and heiresses only to say that he's dated them. Not to mention, for starters, that he can't keep a girlfriend, is a total player, and there's the tiny detail that I'm his assistant. How cliché is that? And have you ever seen him with a completely normal woman?"

"He's your boss for what, like three more months? You could keep it under wraps. People do it all the time. I know a girl who is graduating at the end of the summer and is dating her professor. And let's not forget you aren't exactly normal my dear."

"You know what I meant."

Rebecca thought for a minute. "Rachel Dawes."

"What?"

"Remember, I told you that she was one of the Joker victims? She also was Bruce Wayne's best friend. She seemed normal."

Nicole thought for a minute. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose one of her best friends to death. Rebecca had taken that position in the short time that they had known each other.

"Anyway," Rebecca started, breaking Nicole from her thoughts, "I think you won't go after your boss because you're weird and you're hung up on Mr. Dark and Creepy." She suddenly slid the newspaper to Nicole. "He made the front page of the _Gazette_ again."

Smiling to herself, she eagerly opened the paper to a bold headline proclaiming that the giant bat had been sighted and possibly even halted a robbery in progress.

"So, Nikki, let me get this straight. Sexy Billionaire Bruce Wayne, whom you work in close proximity with, doesn't interest you. The vigilante thought to have murdered police officers and who also masquerades as a giant bat does? Were you dropped on your head as a child or are you just into some kinky S&M shit?"

Nicole shrugged. "I find him intriguing. Something twisted had to have happened to him for him to dress up as a bat and help others. If he were really a cold-blooded murderer, wouldn't he have killed more people by now? Why would he have stopped the Joker?"

Rebecca sighed. "That's just a rumor. The police arrested the Joker. He's safely locked up in Arkham. "

Before they could continue their debate, their food arrived. Nicole quietly chewed her cheeseburger, reading through the paper, happy to be distracted from the conversation with Rebecca. She knew that Rebecca held different views on the vigilante and didn't support him. Even she had days where she wondered if he could have been guilty. But deep down, she didn't think the Batman was. After all, if he was, why hadn't he killed before that incident or after it? And why did it seem that he was always foiling robberies or beating would be rapists and muggers to a pulp? It didn't make sense to her.

"Oh, I went by the post office box and got our mail on my break," Rebecca said, breaking the silence. She started digging in her massive side bag. "Ah! Here they are!" She slid the pile of bills across the table. Suddenly she smiled. "Nikki, what are you doing on Father's Day weekend?"

Nicole stopped flipping through the mail and paused to think of the upcoming weekend that was a little over a week away. "Nothing, probably calling my dad-why?"

"You aren't going out of town then?"

"No," she looked suspiciously at her friend.

"Then will you accompany me to the re-opening of Amusement Mile?"

"Wasn't that where the dead girl was found?"

"Yes, but the park is under new management--you should know that as it's now operated by Wayne Entertainment. And my engineering department had a contract to develop and revamp some of the roller coasters and structures as well as install a new ride. We just weren't sure of the opening date. So will you go? It's the Saturday of Father's Day weekend and it's open only for Wayne Enterprise employees. That means short lines, less crowds, and I might get to meet Mr. Wayne himself." Rebecca pleaded.

"Becky, I haven't even been told, how did you-"Nicole started but was cut off by Rebecca smiling guiltily and holding a torn open envelope. "You know, Becky, first you result to stealing papers from the engineering department, and then you start stealing people's mail. Becoming a career criminal are we?" Nicole teased, taking the envelope from Rebecca's hands. Inside was a simple invitation stating that she and her family or guests were invited to the Grand Reopening of Amusement Mile—Gotham City's biggest and best theme park.

"Please Nikki, you have to go. It's so much fun! I remember going there growing up, and, it's going to be even better now! It's like Disney World, only in Gotham. And I, of course, can be your one guest," she not so subtly suggest.

Nicole chuckled. "Ok, ok. I'll go. And I'll even take you."

Rebecca squealed with delight and started telling her about the remodeled park as the two continued eating their dinner and gossiping until Rebecca received a call that she was needed back in the lab. Bidding each other farewell, the roommates departed ways; Rebecca going to the swanky new Engineering building on campus and Nicole heading home to get her gym clothes as per her evening routine.

* * *

Gotham's East End was by all accounts one of the worst sections of the city, second only to the Narrows. The once bustling community near Old Gotham had certainly seen better days. When East End had branched out from old Gotham, new rows of apartments and store fronts were built. More importantly, many industrial sites had emerged, especially near the outlying coastal areas. The docks made an ideal place to export shipments. As time wore on, the economy worsened. Industrial businesses shut down. Buildings were abandoned. People left the older part of Gotham for the newer part that housed better business opportunities and newer, nicer living quarters. Those that did not leave were either too poor or too set in their ways. Eventually the buildings started rotting and the gangs formed or moved in from the outside. East End lost its grandeur of the past and exchanged it for the dilapidation and forgotten ways of the present.

It was here, near the docks of East End, that an abandoned, half dilapidated industrial warehouse sat. The building was marred with cracks and the windows were half busted. Dust covered most everything except the areas that had been recently used. The man seemed out of place in his attire; dressed casually in khaki slacks and a light blue button down shirt. He looked as if he were plucked from the Financial District and placed here haphazardly. Seemingly no one noticed the man's presence. Those who did simply did not question—sometimes, it was better to not ask why.

As the salty breeze ruffled through his hair, the man placed a shiny new padlock on the rusted chains that barred the tall chain-link fence. He had exited these gates for the last time. The demon's lair had served its purpose well, until the last escape attempt. It wasn't the first time one of his girls had tried to escape. In fact, he remembered Tiffany valiantly fighting back. He had tried to drug her on multiple occasions but she was a fighter. As he recalled, she always was. She was also the biggest bitch he'd ever met. He'd known her prior to her fame and it was by chance that they were reintroduced at a club that night. She hadn't even remembered him! He tried to approach her and tried to jog her memory. Every time, she brushed him aside; it seemed she was trying to hook-up with his friend instead. When Tiffany had had too much to drink that night, he couldn't resist asking to take her home. He knew what her answer would be. After all, she always did use the little people.

Instead of her home, he had driven her here. He hated that he had to drug her, but found it was much easier that way. When she had awoken she screeched nonstop. He gagged her. She still wailed. He had lost his patience and knocked her around a few times. It had stopped the wailing. But then, somehow, she had managed to get the knots loose and managed to crawl halfway out the broken, half boarded window. It had been a fight to get her back in but he had won.

He paused in his thoughts to look at the building and chuckled lowly. Wherever she was, he was sure she remembered him now.

Miranda had been different. She had pled silently for freedom until she had found some discarded sharp object left behind and cut through her bonds. She managed to slip out a side door and almost made it through the hole in the fence leading to the water—and freedom--beyond. But almost didn't count did it? It was after Miranda's almost-escape that he knew he needed to change locations. He needed something much more…accommodating.

The man walked silently back to his waiting vehicle, not giving the dilapidated hell hole one last glance. His thoughts were trained on one thing really—who would be his next lucky lady?

* * *

The water was freezing as she sank into its depths, eyes closed, to keep her contact lenses from washing away. She waited for the feel of the concrete bottom of the fifteen foot mark to meet her feet before swimming upward and breaking through the relatively smooth surface of the chlorinated pool, thankful her long brown tresses were in the ebony swim cap. Feeling for the edge of the indoor pool with one hand, Nicole wiped her still closed eyes free from water. It wasn't that she minded opening her eyes in chlorinated water, it was the fact that her contacts seemed to escape her eyes every time she did so. Without the vision devices, she would only be able to make out shapes and colors that were across the room. Reading would be near impossible unless it was right in front of her face. Still, she found life with contacts was much easier than life with her glasses. At least she could swim which was her favorite form of exercise.

Nicole pulled the black goggles over her head, placing them over her eyes. Surprisingly, she could see relatively clearly through them and could see out the massive glass walls that enclosed the indoor pool. The sun was setting beyond the horizon setting the sky ablaze with brilliant shades of orange and pink. She loved twilight and night time and always seemed to have more energy-hence why her workout sessions were in the late evening as opposed to pre-dawn. She placed the clear nose clip over her medium sized nose, thankful the clear ear plugs were already in place. She absolutely hated water in her ears and getting chlorinated water up her nose.

She began the motions of the laps, her preferred position being the backstroke, and the feeling of sliding through the water. The pool was relatively empty at this time of night and she preferred her solitude. These workout sessions were her way of easing her stress and worries. To everyone looking at her form, she appeared full of confidence and easy going. That was only partly true. Nicole did have copious amounts of confidence in herself. It was other people that she didn't trust and let in easily. Her past had taught her to hold people at arm's length and it had become ingrained in her. Rebecca was one of the few exceptions. Something about the hyper and spastic brunette had been endearing and comforting, reminding her of better days. She had immediately trusted her roommate and let her in. Everyone else would have to prove themselves worthy of her trust and confidence.

She hadn't always been that way. There was a time she had trusted everyone around her. However, those people she held closest to her, continued to hurt her. The first boyfriend she had ever had cheated on her. She had remained strong and vowed to learn from the past; after all, she was still a naïve eighteen year old. As the years went by, her best friend had seemed to change. Sure she had always teased Nicole, but now, it almost seemed like she was putting Nicole down every chance she got, especially when Nicole had been dating Will. As it turns out, Will and Sara had been sleeping with each other the entire time and Sara had given him an ultimatum – leave Nicole or she was leaving him. He chose Sara. What hurt the most was probably the fact that Nicole wouldn't sleep with Will. It wasn't that she didn't want to have sex; it was that she wanted to be in love first. To make the situation even more ironic, it had been on their one year anniversary that he told her of his decision—the same night she had made her decision to give him the one symbol of her love that was most precious to her. If that didn't rip her heart out, she didn't know what could.

Of course, Sara, being a popular Southern Belle who had many parallels to the great Scarlett O'Hara, controlled the group of friends that the two shared. A few nasty rumors and lies and the manipulative princess had succeeded in ruining the majority of Nicole's friendships. It was two months after that occasion that Sara ended up pregnant and Will and Sara were married. It had taken lots of crying, cursing, and even pints of Ben & Jerry's to stow the hurt away. She remembered seeing the wedding announcement and realizing just how pathetic her life had become. This mopey, depressed, withdrawn person was certainly not her. After some soul searching, she had come to the realization that if she had married Will, she would have had to live the life of a small town wife to a doctor who had a timetable about when he was to be married and even have children. He was very primitive in his ways and had often disapproved of her aviation pursuits, deeming such things unladylike and too dangerous. She had realized that if she had married Will, she would have had to give up the things she wanted.

She had decided to take back her life. Aviation was her passion and that's what she would do. Even better, it gave her a change of scenery where she could focus on being herself and not living up to the expectations of those around her. Gotham had been chosen for its education opportunities and the fact she could experience big city life. The fact that it was hours away from the little Podunk town she hailed from only sweetened the deal.

Nicole swam faster, feeling her irritation at the subject, willing herself to work harder. Yes, Nicole was almost angry. Things weren't going the way she thought they would. She had become an office assistant, which wasn't bad, but it wasn't what she wanted either. She had dreamed of a life of adventure, of rebellion, of passion and romance, but it seemed as if things weren't falling into place yet. It seemed as if she was stuck in some sort of limbo. If she were totally honest with herself, Rebecca's proposition that she become one of Bruce Wayne's notches on his bedpost wasn't all that horrible. But she couldn't let herself do that. Despite all the things that she was willing to do, compromising her morals and old-fashioned ideas on love wasn't one of them.

Nicole hauled herself out of the pool, taking a long drink from her bottle of water before wrapping a towel around her body and removing the swim cap and shaking her hair out. The lights of Gotham shone brightly through the darkened night as she looked out the windows surrounding the empty pool. Sighing in frustration, Nicole left to get changed, realizing she had to get back to her apartment to finish her assignments for her online courses. While Nicole wasn't an official student on campus yet, she had taken online courses during the spring semester and, now, the summer semester in order to get ahead with her studies. She would just have to wait until the weekend before she could be more adventurous it seemed.

* * *

The Narrows was a dangerous and foreboding place in the daytime. At night, the Narrows was a breeding ground of crime and evil so sinister, many of Gotham's police hated going there. It was precisely one of the many reasons why Batman often appeared in the Narrows. Often times, there was some shady mob deal being formulated among the rotting buildings. Other times, he was there to defend others from being robbed, raped, or murdered. Granted, his menacing figure was seen in other areas of the city at night as well on his patrol, but some days it seemed as if all the crime in Gotham crept out of the smelly streets of the island that the Narrows was located on. Tonight, his mission was to find anyone that knew Bunny Robbins.

He thought that it was likely that the murderer hadn't intended to kill the victim that night—there wasn't much evidence to indicate that, just a gut feeling. And if Bruce had learned anything, it was to trust his gut feelings. It was entirely possible someone had seen him with Bunny. There was also a slim chance he had used her services before. If so, that might make him easier to identify.

Hearing the crunch of the roof top under his boots as he walked, he decided to survey the activity below. Derringer Street was located in the heart of the Narrows and was populated by an array of seedy bars and clubs. It was the so-called red light district of Gotham and most of the prostitutes worked the street corners nearby. On weekends, the place was active, but like every other bar on a Monday evening, things weren't as busy here. Still it was crowded and the last thing he wanted to do was leap into the throes of a crowd. From his vantage point, he found a side street that was more protected, yet still offered an array of people to question. Quietly, he leapt with arms outstretched and glided down, appearing unnoticed in the alley.

On the fairly secluded corner, two women stood, silently conversing. He could easily tell that the raven haired girl felt awkward and self conscious due to the fact she kept fidgeting with her clothing, almost nervously. She stood in six inch red heels that contrasted with the black pleather mini-skirt she was wearing. Her top was a light blue tube top and was a little too tight and she obviously wasn't wearing underwear. In all likelihood, this girl, for she couldn't have been older than seventeen, was new to this. The other woman, at least in her mid twenties, stood as if she owned the corner, her confidence rolling off of her in waves. She was dressed in a tight formfitting and revealing red dress that offset her mousy brown hair.

As he stepped into the dim light, he made his appearance known by enabling his footsteps to be heard. The younger girl whirled around, jumpy at the sudden presence behind them and gasped. Hearing her compatriot, the older girl turned, visibly shocked at seeing his massive black form. She quickly recovered, putting on a face of indifference.

"What do you want, we hadn't done nothing," the brunette asked of him.

"Relax. I just want information"

At his growl, the younger woman looked as if she were about to faint as she visibly blanched and gripped the brunette's arm tightly.

"Bridget, chill." Turning her attention back to the Batman, she asked "What makes you think we know something?"

Thrusting the picture of the deceased girl at her he growled, "She was killed by a man picking of women in this city. Did you recognize her?"

"No," she replied cooling, trying to hand him the photo when an arm shakily stopped her.

"Wait," the girl named Bridget commanded. Taking the photo she stared for a moment before her look turned sympathetic. "Her name is Bunny. I met her when I started. She was real nice"

"Where did she work?" the gruff voice questioned.

"At the docks, near Arkham. I left because it was too sketch, even for me."

With that, the Batman nodded and sank back into the shadows. Now he had a location. Things might be looking up for his investigation after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Batman or anything associated with it. Just my original characters.

**AN:** Just FYI, the M rating will kick into effect on later chapters. I wanted to give Nicole and Bruce a chance to get to know each other so that's why everything's a little slower to start. But, trust me, it will get very interesting soon. This chapter has descriptions of a few items in it, but if you'd like to see the objects, I'm posting links on my profile for them. I hope you enjoy and remember that reviews are always welcome and encouraged (unless you intend to make me cry, then I won't be so happy with them).

* * *

"_I just jumped out in the open  
without knowing if my  
parachute would save me  
it's quiet and peaceful  
in this emotional nirvana  
blue"_

_Nirvana Blue _- Hooverphonic

* * *

Nicole sat at her mahogany desk, eagerly watching the clock. It had been a slow week and an even slower Friday morning. After her trip to the gym Monday, Nicole had decided to do something about the monotony of her life. She was the kind of person that needed excitement and change. When she was younger and still in high school, she had achieved the thrill of change by sporting new, wacky hairstyles and colors. In college, she had done so by taking random road trips on weekends. However, now that she had a steady job, she couldn't randomly leave for long periods of time or dye her hair odd shades.

In addition to craving excitement, she was goal oriented, and had a list of things she wanted to accomplish. Some were simple, such as getting a piercing she had always wanted or learning to dance. Others, like travelling through Europe and experiencing it, would take time and money—both of which she lacked at the moment. After she had returned home Monday, she had procrastinated on her assignments by surfing the internet. While researching general aviation airports in the area, she had found something—one airport offered an aerobatic flight course. Having always wanted to learn how to do the various maneuvers, she immediately contacted the school. Luckily, they had an opening for the initial ground school and the first lesson for Friday of that week at 3 p.m. The next day, she had talked to Crystal, Mr. Fox's assistant, and asked her to cover the second half of Friday for her—after all, she had covered for Crystal on Monday morning. After confirming it with Crystal, she told Mr. Fox that she needed the second half of Friday off, considering Mr. Wayne wasn't there and hadn't been in the days following. Mr. Fox smiled and agreed easily enough—Nicole had only asked for time off once and that was when she had been sick with the Flu.

Nicole didn't feel quite as bad leaving Crystal to deal with her duties as she normally would have. Mr. Wayne had breezed into work a few hours prior for a meeting and she had quickly handed off the prepared material to him before he had disappeared. After the meeting ended and she was gone, Crystal would only need to take the calls that were forwarded to her as well as take care of any urgent matter that Mr. Wayne needed, although with it being Friday, there probably wouldn't be much that needed to be done. Checking the clock again, Nicole smiled as she realized it was two minutes until time for her to leave. She didn't think that it could hurt to pack up early and started loading her messenger bag when she heard the voices of Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox as they rounded the corner.

"Miss Miller, taking a late lunch?" a confused Bruce asked the young assistant upon seeing her packing her bag.

"Not exactly," she chuckled as she looked at Lucuis Fox's amused face. It was clear he hadn't informed Mr. Wayne that she was taking off the second half of the day.

"It seems that Miss Miller is leaving us for the day, Mr. Wayne," Lucius explained.

"And why is my lovely assistant doing that?" Bruce flirted, smiling his most dashing smile and sitting on the edge of her desk.

Nicole rolled her eyes at her boss's blatant flirting. Feeling bold, she leaned toward him and purred, "Because I have more pressing matters to attend to than getting your coffee or calling the random flavor of the week about your dinner plans, Mr. Wayne."

Lucius Fox grinned as Bruce clearly tried to recover from the comeback he wasn't expecting, although he probably should have been given his assistant's sarcastic nature.

"But what could be more pressing?"

Nicole couldn't tell if this was just friendly banter or if he seriously thought he was that important. If it was the latter, then this man clearly had problems with his ego. "Because I have a date with a plane," she replied with ease, placing her messenger bag's strap over her head and securely on her shoulder.

Bruce, for his part, looked confused. He had never asked the woman about her personal life beyond what she wanted to study and clearly did not realize what her hobby was.

Seeing that the clock read 1:31 p.m. Nicole smiled as she walked toward the elevator and pressed the button.

"Are you travelling somewhere for weekend Miss Miller?" Bruce asked as the brunette waited on the elevator.

"Not exactly, Mr. Wayne," she stated while smiling slyly and backing into the elevator. "Do be kind to Crystal won't you?" she said as the metal doors slid shut, blocking her from view.

"Mr. Wayne, perhaps you should get to know your employees better," Lucius suggested.

"Perhaps. I assume that means you know where she's off to," Bruce stated rather than asked.

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. Nicole Miller is a pilot. I assume she has a date with a plane, just like she said." With that, Lucius smiled and turned, leaving Bruce staring at the closed elevator doors.

* * *

Gotham City, being the sprawling urban center that it was, was home to a multitude of airports. Of course, there were the two large ones; Gotham International to the North West of the city and Archie Goodwin International situated in the West between Robinson Park and the coast, where Gotham Rock was located. In addition to the larger airports, smaller airports, used by the general aviation crowd as well as many smaller businesses, surrounded the city. One such airport, Bristol-Crest Hill, was located near the Palisades. The Palisades was an area North of Gotham City that housed the wealthiest members of Gotham's high society. The area consisted of a number of neighborhoods that included Gotham Heights, Bristol, and Crest Hill. In all her time in Gotham, Nicole had never driven out to the affluent area herself. Typically, she flew small planes from a small flying club that was based at Archie Goodwin International considering she lived only a few miles from the airport. However, her lesson today would be at the upscale airport.

The drive took quite a bit of time, at least forty minutes, not that Nicole minded. She rather liked the almost pastoral scenery that was littered with obscenely isolated mansions. It was quite a change from the never-ending urban sprawl she had come to call home. She soon located the airport and drove through the gates, parking at the FBO that looked almost foreboding with its expensive décor—and that was only on the outside. She slowly got out of her car, flight bag in tow, and took in the scene. The ramp was littered with private jets such as King Airs, Lear Jets, and a few Cessna Citations, which were larger, and in her opinion, classier. There were a few small planes, such as Cessna 172's and Piper Warriors, tied down outside and she figured most planes were probably kept in the rows upon rows of expensive hangars. Turning, she opened the door to the massive FBO and looked for the man that would be instructing her.

A man in his fifties dressed in casual khaki pants and black polo stood at the front desk, gossiping, as pilots do, with the clerk. He wore a tan hat with the familiar bear cub logo that proclaimed he was a fan of the Piper Cub airplane. As he caught her eye he smiled and approached her.

"You must be Nicole. I'm Jason," he announced holding out his hand.

Nicole took the outstretched hand firmly and greeted the man, "I'm Nicole, but, please, feel free to call me Nikki"

"Alright, Nikki. Let's get started, we can use the conference room that's down the hall."

With that, the young brunette eagerly followed the man until he gestured for her to sit in an expensive leather office chair. The next hour and a half consisted of her signing forms and instruction on how to do the maneuvers. She had to admit, ground school was not her favorite part of flying. Often times it was hard to remember exactly what to do unless you were being guided through it. She highly doubted that she could remember the expanse of instructions for the various maneuvers she was going to perform. When Jason finished instructing he excused himself and told her to meet him at his hangar and gave her specific directions on how to get there so she wouldn't get lost in the maze of beige structures.

Before leaving the conference room, Nicole looked through her flight bag; getting the few items that she would need ready. She pulled out a pink and white ball cap with a yellow chick on it proclaiming "Chicks Fly" and pulled it on her head, looping her pony tail through the back. It was a well known fact that wearing a ball cap with the headset over it helped to keep the headset in place instead of having it slide off in the middle of flight. She gathered her things and walked out of the tinted black door, sliding her black sunglasses on as she did so.

Upon reaching row E of the hangars, she immediate saw the red and white Super Decathlon that she would be flying. The Super Decathlon was a small, tandem seat tail-wheel plane that was capable of all the basic aerobatic maneuvers. Sure, it wasn't what the pros in aerobatic competitions used, but it was a great starter. As she drew closer to the plane, she felt the pit of excited nervousness expand in her stomach.

"You can set your stuff in the hanger, just grab your headset. You don't need the rest of the stuff for this," Jason stated as he cleaned his sunglasses.

Nicole complied, grabbing her Telex headset out of its case before she carried it to the plane. She inserted the contact into the appropriate areas and sat her headset on the floor next to the first seat, the one that she would be occupying.

"Nikki, have you ever been skydiving or worn a parachute before?" Jason inquired as he held up the blue contraption.

"No, I can't say I have"

"Well, since we're doing aerobatics, you have to wear one. It goes on like this," he said as he demonstrated by putting his pack on. "When you're finished, go ahead and get in and get settled."

Nicole picked her parachute up and inserted her arms through the top straps, as if she were putting on a jacket. She leaned down, grabbing the strap and buckle for the right leg, looped the strap around the leg and into the buckle, and pulled it tight. She did the same for the left leg and finished by looping the strap around her waist and pulling it tight. Finished with the chute, Nicole walked over to the door. She placed a foot on the step and used the bars inside to pull herself into the small cockpit, placing her left leg to the left of the stick and her right in the appropriate location. She eased herself down into the seat and brought the seat all the way forward. She still couldn't reach the rudder pedals with the best of ease. Some days, being short really sucked.

"Jason, I can't reach the pedals"

Jason peered inside and chuckled. "Try sitting on the very edge of the seat and leaning back."

Nicole did as she was told. "Thanks," she stated simply as she felt the pedals beneath her feet. She briefly thought what she might look like in the plane with her head barely coming up past the top of the panel in front of her. Laughing it off, she strapped herself in with the safety harness while Jason swung into the plane with ease and closed the door.

Nicole placed the headset over her hat and glanced over the checklist that was posted before starting the engine. She enriched the mixture and inserted the throttle half way before flipping on the master switch and turning the key. The engine roared to life causing the plane to vibrate as she eased the throttle back. She switched on the radios waiting on more instructions from Jason.

"Nikki, you're going to want to taxi to runway 7."

Nicole did as told, easing out of the hangar area and following the taxiway to runway 7. Once getting there, she performed her engine run-up to make sure everything was good to go for takeoff.

"Now, when you take off, give it 50% power ease the stick over until you're horizontal with the runway. When it breaks over and the tail is no longer on the ground, give it full power and take off as you normally would," Jason instructed.

She confirmed and swung the plane out onto the runway. She moved her feet from the brakes at the top of the rudders to the bottom where they would remain during flight and added half the power on the throttle. Then plane lurched forward. She slowly eased the stick forward until she felt the tail come off the ground and realized that they were rolling down the runway on the main wheels only. She added full power and slowly brought the stick towards her. The light plane lifted quickly off the ground with ease.

She felt whole again. In the tandem seat cockpit, she felt like she was alone since she was surrounded by glass. She could see Gotham and the ocean and rivers that surrounded it. The crime-ridden city looked beautiful and at peace, just as it had when she had landed here six months ago. Everything suddenly seemed perfect in life and she couldn't keep from grinning.

"Alright Nikki, let's do some clearing turns and then we'll get into the first maneuver."

Nicole turned the plane slowly to the left and then to the right, making sure there was no traffic or birds in the area. It wouldn't do to hit another object that could bring the plane down. She was sure that would dampen her mood tremendously.

"The first maneuver is the wingover. Now I want you to climb straight up until you feel the plane stop. Then I want you to throw in full left rudder and left aileron at the same time. Go for it," Jason ordered.

Nicole gave the plane full power and pulled the stick towards her and it seemed as if she were climbing toward space. She felt the plane slow down and it seemed almost as if they were suspended in air.

"Now," Jason instructed.

Nicole complied, pressing the rudder in and moving the stick as far left as it would go. Suddenly the plane flipped nose over wing and she was staring and hurtling straight for the ground. She could feel her stomach leap to her throat as she leveled the plane out straight as she had been ordered to do.

"Good Job," Jason praised as Nicole grinned ear to ear. "For your next maneuver, we're going to do a loop. I want you to angle the plane down, when the speed hits 145 knots, pull the stick all the way back and hold it. Look up through the skylight and make sure you're inverted above the ground. Go to straight and level flight when you exit the loop. Do it whenever you're ready."

Nicole pointed the nose toward the ground as the plane sped faster. When it reached the required speed, she pulled the stick back, and immediately felt as if she were being pressed even farther in her seat. She managed to look up to the skylight halfway through the maneuver and was amazed to see the ground above her. The world outside moved in a blur as she finished the loop. Her stomach and definitely flipped on that one.

"How are you feeling, Nikki? You're not too overheated or queasy are you," Jason asked her, making sure his pilot wasn't going vomit as many have done while performing the maneuvers.

Nicole felt elated and her adrenaline was pumping. "I'm great! Absolutely fantastic!"

"Good. Ok, one more new maneuver and then we'll practice them again. The rest that we learned in ground school will be saved for our next lesson. This one is the aileron roll. It's simple. Just give the plane power and press the left rudder and give it left aileron at the same time and we'll roll to the left," Jason instructed.

Nicole built up speed to the plane and did as was instructed. The plane rolled horizontally to the left giving her a feeling of excitement. She did a few more rolls, loops, and wingovers before it was time to head back to the airport. As Nicole flew the plane through the afternoon sky, she was filled full of adrenaline and on a natural high. For the first time in a long time, Nicole was praising her decision to move to Gotham.

* * *

Bruce Wayne's week had not gone according to plan. After his escapades Monday night, the rest of his outings as Batman had been chaotic. It seemed every mugger, gang member, and thief knew the Batman was some-what pressed for time and had all flooded the streets of Gotham to keep him busy. To make matters worse, Bruce Wayne was expected to attend many pressing social engagements, the most important of which was to occur this weekend—the upcoming nuptials of Senator Patrick Leahy's son, Michael. Bruce Wayne wasn't exactly looking forward to the social obligation, or his decision to take amateur actress Angelique Reyes as his date. She had initially approached him and he had accepted her request at the last minute. Since then, the woman had called incessantly and had even taken to randomly showing up at Wayne Manor, only to be thwarted away by Alfred. She was becoming annoying, to say the least.

As Bruce finished shoving the last bit of clothing into his suitcase, his thoughts turned to a familiar brunette assistant. Her treatment of him was someone unusual compared to other women, which is what had intrigued him in the first place. The more he was around her; the more she rebuffed his playful gestures. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't interested in her. In fact, if he were completely honest, he wanted to get to know her, probably more than he should have.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he zipped the suitcase closed and proceeded to carry it downstairs to the waiting black car.

"Is there anything else that you require, Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The butler had a habit of doing that and it amazed Bruce to no end.

"No Alfred, I've got it."

"Very well. Miss Reyes will be meeting us at the airport, so you will not have to endure her company for the duration of the ride," Alfred told his employer, smiling knowingly as he did so.

Bruce returned the smile. His guardian could read him like an open book, probably due to the tactics he'd learned while he was employed in the intelligence service during the man's younger days. Alfred was smarter than most people gave him credit for. He lifted the suitcase into the trunk of the black Mercedes, swatting his butler away as he did so.

"You will be staying the full three days then?"

Bruce cringed as he slammed the trunk shut. Three days with the state's high society. Three days in close proximity to Angelique. "Yes, Alfred. You were able to get us separate rooms?"

"Of course, Master Wayne."

With that Bruce nodded and took his seat in the back of the car. Alfred slid in and started the car with ease. For a portion of the drive both men were left to their thoughts, Bruce dreading the weekend where he would have to pose as the air headed playboy that was the opposite of his true persona.

"Master Wayne, forgive me for asking, but why are you taking Miss Angelique?"

"She asked me and I needed a date."

Alfred nodded before he continued. "It seems to me that this weekend would be more enjoyable if you took someone you actually tolerated, or I dare say, even liked."

Bruce sighed. "It's too dangerous for me to get involved with someone Alfred."

"Might I say sir, that no one is complete without experiencing true love and having that returned. Even you deserve that, more so than you think," Alfred said, meeting his charges eyes in the mirror. Bruce nodded but stayed quiet. His thoughts turned to his past. It was true that he loved Rachel. Lately, he had been questioning whether she had truly loved him as her one true love or if he had just been the friend in her life. He had heard her talking to Dent in the warehouse but had tried to ignore the nagging feeling it produced. She had said yes to his marriage proposal. While some would have thought she said that only to ease his mind at his time of death, Bruce knew better—even if he didn't want to admit it. She had never been the type to lie about her feelings.

Bruce continued thinking about Rachel as he leaned his head against the cool, black leather seats, watching but not seeing the green landscape pass by on the way to the airport.

* * *

Nicole was on final approach when she saw the massive sea plane on the ramp, the sun glinting off of its blue wings. Obviously someone had enough money to buy the nearly $1 million dollar vintage sea plane and instantly envied them. She glided the red and white plane down with ease and felt contact with the runway before she began slowing the plane with the brakes at the top of the rudder pedals. She took the first taxi way and slowly taxied the plane to the hangar before cutting the engines off and switching the radios and master switch off. She removed her headset and unhooked the harness. Pulling herself up and stepping out of the plane, she questioned Jason.

"Did you see that plane on the ramp?"

Jason, having already extracted himself from the plane replied, "Sure did. It's nice, especially on the inside."

Nicole nodded and started undoing her parachute pack. "Is it a Grumman Albatross?"

"It is. It's been modified on the inside though. Now it can carry passengers around in style. Once we're done here, go take a look at it."

"Alright, I think I will," she said smiling as the two pushed the plane into the hangar.

"So, Friday is the next lesson. You said you get off work at 5:00 so let's plan on meeting at the hangar at 6. You did great today Nikki. Go check out that plane before you leave, you don't want to miss that," Jason said smiling.

"I will," she laughed. And with that she began walking to the ramp.

The Grumman Albatross was a large sea plane used by the Navy and the Coast Guard during the 1950's. This particular Albatross had a rather unique paint scheme. The two floats, rudder, and front of the engines were yellow; the wings and underbelly of the plane were a royal blue; and the rest was white. The plane looked brand new and completely spotless. Some days, she thought it would be nice to be rich.

As she approached the plane, she was quickly dwarfed by its size. It was absolutely amazing to her. She walked underneath the wing, staring up in wonder at the engines, never even noticing the black Mercedes that was parked nearby.

"Can I help you Miss?" a kind voice with a British accent inquired.

Somewhat startled out of her reverie, Nicole turned, and took in the appearance of the man. He wore the garb of a manservant and bore a head full of white hair and an aged, but kind, face. Smiling she replied, "Oh I'm sorry. I was just looking at this wonderful plane. I've never seen an Albatross before."

Alfred smiled at the young woman, whose eyes were wide with child like amazement. She was clearly excited. "No to worry, Miss, you can look as long as you like."

"Thank you," she beamed as she turned and continued to examine the engine.

* * *

Bruce stared at his tired reflection as he washed his hands. Although he wasn't looking forward to pretending to be a vapid and boorish playboy this weekend, he was looking forward to getting a bit of extra rest. To sweeten the deal, Angelique had just texted him, explaining she was running late. That was less time that he'd have to spend with the whiney actress. Wiping his hands on a paper napkin, Bruce thought back to his Batman duties. He needed to investigate more on the streets, however, a weekend away wouldn't hurt that much and he could always go back over the case files looking for something new. After all, the city had survived six years without him right?

Leaving the restroom, the 28 year old man wearing beige chinos and light blue polo shirt strode with ease across the lobby. He needed to confirm that Alfred has stowed his Batsuit in the secret compartment of the cargo plane, just in case he needed it. Walking out the door, Bruce slipped on a pair of designer aviators and began to approach the massive sea plane. The plane had barely looked safe to fly in when he had first seen it from his sailboat. After the trip to Hong Kong, he was assured of its safety. Sure, he still had a private jet at his calling, but there was something about the vintage plane that he liked. Bruce had spent a copious amount of money updating the plane. It now sported top of the line avionics, a new paint job, and the interior had been refitted to carry more passengers. But most of all, the cargo hold was full of secret compartments able to hide his equipment if he so desired to bring it. He still wasn't licensed by the FAA to fly the plane, or any other plane for that matter, so he had specific pilots on his payroll that would pilot the plane for him.

With his designer aviators firmly in place, he opened the door to the ramp and was greeted by the sight of a stranger that standing beneath the wing of the Albatross. As he drew closer, he noticed that the stranger clad in blue jeans and a black tank top was clearly feminine by the woman's shapeliness. He approached the unassuming woman with ease, for she had her back turned to him.

"Hi there, I see you're interested in my plane," Bruce confidently offered, not wanting to startle the woman. The woman froze in place for a moment before turning. Recognition crossed his features. He had never seen his assistant outside of the office and she looked somewhat foreign in her simple attire and pink and white hat. Lucius had told him that she flew, but he never thought that she would be flying out of this airport since it seemed a bit out of the way from where she lived.

"I have to admit, it's a nice plane you have Mr. Wayne," she replied simply.

"Bruce. Call me Bruce. We're not in the office so there's no need to be formal," he replied smiling genuinely. He suddenly felt like he was 13 again with a crush on Bianca Williams.

Nicole paused for a moment. "Well then I suppose it's only right that you call me Nicole."

"Well, Nicole, Mr. Fox informed me that you were a pilot, though I didn't expect you to be so far out of the city."

"Normally I wouldn't be. I'm taking aerobatic lessons, which is why I'm here. Normally I fly out of Archie Goodwin International."

This managed to perk Bruce's interest once more. It was impressive enough that she flew; it wasn't a common hobby among most people, let alone the women he knew. It was even more impressive that she had the skill and courage to perform aerobatic maneuvers. Bruce nodded.

"I'm sorry Mr. Wayne—Bruce, I didn't want to hold you up. You have a lovely plane," she stated as she moved to walk away. Bruce found that he didn't want her to leave just yet.

"Nicole, would you like to see inside?"

She hesitated until curiosity obviously got the best of her. "Sure"

Bruce led the short brunette inside, and watched as her face lit up in awe. What had once served as an air ambulance and transport area now sported white leather seating against the side of the plane and a durable carpet underneath. Everything was pristine in this area and looked as if it belonged on the inside of a private jet rather than the Albatross.

"This is the main seating area; I updated it to accommodate my guests. Over here to the right is the door leading to the cargo area, which is small. And to the left, through that door, is the cockpit," he stated, pointing to the rounded entryway. "You can see it if you like."

Nicole nodded eagerly and followed behind Bruce. He opened the door and two seats with old-fashioned yokes in front of them came into view. The panel was decorated with gauges, switches, and leavers that made the plane look overly complex. Grinning, Nicole eyed the white leather pilot's seat on the left. "Can I?"

"Of course"

Nicole carefully stepped over the instruments and slipped into the seat. Bruce chuckled at the site of the brunette who couldn't quite reach the rudder pedals and who was a little too short to see over the top of the panel.

"Hey! Don't laugh at me! I can't help if I'm vertically challenged," Nicole chastised with humor in her eyes.

Bruce suddenly pictured the scene from _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_ where Short and Round used pedals on his feet to drive the car. "Well I'm confident you could fly this. We'll just get you a booster chair and pedals for your feet," he teased, smiling

Before Nicole had a chance to retort, the silent butler appeared behind Bruce. "Ah, I see you finally made it inside the plane Miss."

"Yes, Bruce here was just giving me a tour."

Bruce smiled at her. "That's right. Alfred, this is Nicole Miller, my assistant at Wayne Enterprises. Nicole, this is Alfred Pennyworth, my trusted butler."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Miller. Master Wayne, I came to tell you that _all_ the equipment you asked for has been loaded into the cargo area."

"Thank you, Alfred."

"If you need me, I'll be outside Mr. Wayne," Alfred said giving his charge a knowing and sly smile. Sometimes, it seemed the man had ESP.

"He seems nice," Nicole stated from the pilot's seat that she was clearly not relinquishing yet.

"He is. Stealthy, but wonderful," Bruce joked.

Nicole laughed and the two continued conversing. He was finding that he rather liked her outside of the office. She seemed livelier as the two discussed aviation and the different vintage war birds that they liked. She was just about to comment on why the Supermarine Spitfire was one of the greatest fighter planes of World War II when she was suddenly cut off in mid sentence.

"Brucie! I'm here my love! Where are you? Oh, there you are!" Bruce inwardly groaned at Angelique's shrill interruption.

Wrapping her arms around his midsection and planting a kiss on his cheek, the tanned, dark haired actress made her presence known. "Oh, are you the pilot? Did you forget your uniform?" Angelique questioned Nicole condescendingly.

"Angelique, Miss Miller is my assistant."

Angelique took in the woman's casual appearance. "Well surely she's not coming with us! This is a romantic getaway Bruce," Angelique whined. Bruce mentally prayed for more patience to get through this weekend. If she kept whining, he would be sorely tempted to throw her out of the plane while they were flying over the water.

"No, I'm not going. I ran into _Mr. Wayne_ and he was kind enough to show me his plane," Nicole stated defensively. Nicole rose from her position as Bruce tried to give her an apologetic look. "Actually, I need to get going." With that Nicole brushed passed the couple and left the plane.

"Well, you certainly have a very ugly assistant. I can't believe she would dress like that. Was that _grease_ on her hand? ," whined Angelique.

Maybe jettisoning the actress out of the plane over the ocean wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

* * *

Nicole darted out of the plane so fast she tripped over the last step and went sprawling with arms outstretched onto the tarmac below. Feeling the sting of the scrape on her palms and the pain in her knee as she made from contact with the hard surface, Nicole felt like melting into the pavement. It was one thing to be embarrassed by Bruce Wayne and that infuriating woman, but to have a bout of clumsiness right after just downright sucked. Before she could rise to her feet, she heard a kindly voice in her ears.

"Miss Miller, are you alright? That was quite a nasty spill."

Nicole looked up into the kind face of Bruce's butler, Alfred.

"I'm fine, just a bit of a klutz it seems," she answered as she gave a half smile.

"Here, let me," Alfred said as he offered a hand to the lady to help her up from her ungraceful spill.

Nicole, not one to typically accept help, took the butler's hand, not wanting to offend him. "Thank you Alfred," she said as she rose and began brushing loose gravel herself off.

"It's not a problem Miss Miller."

"I'm sorry, I really need to go. Thank you again, Alfred," with that, Nicole turned and briskly walked across the hot tarmac, feeling annoyance and humiliation bubble up inside of her.

For once, Bruce Wayne hadn't seemed like he had walked straight out of a tabloid. She had wanted to leave instinctively but he had offered her something she couldn't refuse, a chance to tour the plane. She had accepted and was impressed with his taste and was surprised to feel at ease in his company. Being somewhat of a history buff, she was surprised the Bruce had known so much about aviation and World War II. She had wondered if this man was the same man she had seen at least weekly for the past six months. This man was intelligent, charming, and witty. He was nothing like the tabloid version of himself and she had actually found herself attracted to him.

Then that woman—Angelique—had shown up. It wasn't her place to question Bruce's choice of women, though the woman was clearly spoiled and annoying. It had angered her that she was spoken to in such a condescending way, not to mention the barb aimed at her retreating back. But what really angered her was how Bruce acted. He hadn't said anything to stop the woman and had switched to using formal terms as if the last hour hadn't even occurred. She didn't understand how he could switch personalities like that.

Reaching her car, Nicole threw her bag inside and grabbed checked her cell phone. Becky and left a text messaging asking if she wanted to go out for drinks. Quickly replying yes, Nicole pulled out of the parking lot, glancing at the Albatross in the rearview mirror. She didn't understand why Bruce's actions annoyed her so much but she was tired of thinking about it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything related to Batman

**AN: **I'm not particularly happy with this chapter, but I decided to post it. Enjoy!

**AN2:** I've re-edited the first 9 chapters of the story for basic grammatical errors. There isn't anything new. If you've already read this, it isn't necessary to read this again (but you can if you want)

* * *

"_Everyone has their obsession  
Consuming thoughts, consuming time  
They hold high their prized possession  
That defines the meaning of their lives"_

_You Are Mine – _Mute Math

* * *

The rain was coming down in torrents as Jim Gordon drove through Gotham Heights. It had been a week since the body of Miranda Johnson had been discovered. So far, the Department had questioned the majority of the student's friends at length, as well as a few party goers that had been in attendance at the frat party she was last seen at. The girl had never arrived home after she had left the party. Her friends never reported it because it was normal for her to stay with other people.

Gordon turned onto the narrow drive that forged a path through the forest. Although no longer a suspect, Alex Harper remained a witness, and he had put off questioning the boy for as long as he could. He hadn't really wanted to add to the boy's grief. As the opulent white colonial mansion came into view, Gordon parked his car and threw the hood of his GCPD rain slicker up, lamenting the fact that he had left his umbrella in his office. He jogged up to the massive white door and pressed the button for the doorbell. So far there had been no indication of life inside the house and he thought about pressing it once more just as he heard the stomp of shoes on the hardwood floor that lay beyond the door.

The door opened to reveal a stranger to Gordon. The handsome man with curly blonde locks and brilliant blue eyes that were hidden behind narrow glasses smiled in greeting. He couldn't remember Alex's father, Roger, having blonde hair.

"I'm Commissioner Jim Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department," he stated as he showed his badge. "Is Alex Harper here?"

The stranger's eyes flashed with recognition and his face was written with concern.

"He is. Come in, I'll go get him," the man said as he opened the door wider, signaling that Gordon was to follow.

He led Gordon down the massive hallway into a formal sitting room that screamed a theme of sunny spring, contrasting with the stormy weather out. The man indicated to Gordon to sit on one of the white couches, which he did, while the man walked up the stairs in haste.

Moments later, the man returned without Alex in tow. "Alex will be just a moment, I had to wake him up-- he's been exhausted lately. Mostly grief I think."

"That's quite alright Mr.-"

"Day. Julian Day. My apologies for not introducing myself earlier," the blonde haired man smiled an almost perfect grin. "If you don't mind me asking, why do you need to question Alex? I didn't think he was a suspect."

"He's not. Just routine Mr. Day, nothing to worry about," Gordon reassured then paused for a moment. "So how do you know Alex Harper, Mr. Day? If you don't mind my asking that is," Gordon smiled as he recited Mr. Day's words.

"He's my godson. Roger and I went to Brentwood together and have remained the best of friends."

Gordon nodded as Alex Harper treaded barefoot into the sitting room, looking worse for wear as black circles surrounded his eyes.

"Julian, dad called after you woke me up and he's on his way home. He said you can go whenever you want and to tell you thanks for staying with me."

Julian nodded. "Alright, I think I'll go ahead and leave if that's okay with you Alex—I have some work to catch up on."

Alex nodded his confirmation.

"Alex, I'll see you later kiddo. Commissioner Gordon, it was a pleasure to meet you," Julian crooned before grabbing his umbrella and walking out the door.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about Commissioner?"

"Take a seat Alex. I need you to tell me about the night of the party."

Alex nodded and began his tale.

* * *

The Bat Pod roared through the shadows and rain slicked streets, only visible in the night when the lightning deemed it important to illuminate it. It was a familiar drive, one that he had taken many times in the past year, to the southern part of the city. He leaned in as he turned the bike and parked it in the shadows where it would remain hidden. The illusive shadow crept silently through the night, remaining unseen in the dismal suburbs near the ship yards. He lifted himself onto the roof of the small shed, avoiding the sliver of light that emerged from the back porch of the small house where Jim Gordon sat drinking his glass iced water to stave off the heat of the night.

Batman watched him silently, observing the older man. He had initially come to Gordon because he was a good man—he cared about the well being of this city and its inhabitants. He remembered the days long ago when Gordon had comforted him and had vowed to bring the man that murdered his family to justice. Bruce gave a small half smile, amused by the irony. Almost twenty years later, it was he that was helping Gordon, vowing to bring justice to the men that eluded the Commissioner.

Gordon stood up and walked out into the small yard, looking for, but not seeing the Batman. Just as Gordon was going to give up waiting on him, a flash of lightning illuminated the dark figure to the left of where he had been staring.

"What's the matter with you!? Are you trying to give me a heart attack," Gordon cried as he walked toward the shadows.

Batman rose and met him on the ground. "What do you have for me?"

Gordon handed him the file he had been carrying. "Miranda's autopsy reports came back. Most of the injuries happened prior to death. There's a vast list of them but they include broken ribs, a cracked wrist, broken jaw, and internal injuries to the abdomen. There were consistent injuries in the vaginal area that indicate she was more than likely raped. No DNA evidence was found on her body. If there was any, it was washed away in the ocean. He was careful with the rape, more than likely wore a condom. The toxicology also came back. There was evidence of GHB—just like the last few victims."

"Everything points to him," Batman simply growled.

"Yes, but there was something new this time. What do you know about pancuronium?"

Bruce thought. "It's used in anesthesia."

"Right. It's used as muscle relaxant, or, should I say a paralyzer."

"Did she have any defensive wounds?"

Gordon sighed. "The best we could tell, no, but she was in the water a long time."

"So he's keeping them from fighting back," the Batman stated rather than asked.

"It seems so. I questioned her friends along with Alex Harper. It seems she had a little too much to drink but drank only from beer bottles that hadn't been opened prior. Alex seems to not have a reason to hurt her and is pretty torn up. But, her friend Bethany suspects there was another guy. Apparently Miranda had been studying with one Brian Marquis—for longer than required."

"Any relation to Jean Marquis," came the coarse voice.

Gordon nodded at the reference to one of Gotham's most prominent businessmen. "He's his son."

"Did Harper know?"

"No. He swears that Miranda would never cheat on him and he never cheated on her either."

"I'll look into it."

Gordon nodded. Another flash of lightning lit up the night sky, showing Gordon that the Batman was gone.

* * *

Bruce raced down the back roads away from the city as the storm raged on. He was thankful for his suit as little chunks of hail began to rain down from the sky. It seemed the weather was mirroring his mood tonight, he thought wryly. The killer was definitely escalating and showing no mercy with his victims. It's almost as if his rage against the victims worsened. He was showing no fear when it came to selection. Sure, it had started with a prostitute, but his reign had killed a rising model, a professional cheerleader that moved in the elite circles of Gotham, and a popular student. There was practically no connection to the victims so far and that irritated him even more. The next holiday, Father's Day, was this Sunday and for all he knew, another girl could have been taken.

He suddenly veered the vehicle to the left, entering the rough terrain that was hidden by the trees. After nearly a mile of bumping and sliding on the rocky landscape, lightning struck nearby, illuminating the waterfall directly ahead. He gunned the engine and the bike roared as it soared through the water, landing with a thud and skidding to a stop in the dimly lit cave.

Bruce climbed off of the massive bike as his eyes adjusted to the light in the cave. He strode to a nearby table and removed gloves followed by his cowl, wiping the water off his face as he did so. He continued removing the armored suit until he stood in his wet clothing. The suit may have helped protect him from the rain, but it wasn't exactly waterproof.

Leaving his suit on the table to dry, he walked to the cabinet that he kept spare clothing in. Opening it, he took out a plain black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and a pair of boxers. Casting the wet clothing to the floor, Bruce slid the shirt over his head before donning the underwear and pants. At least this was more comfortable than the Batsuit.

Running a hand through is damp hair, he picked up the file and walked to the massive screens that adorned the corner of the cave. Pressing a button, the screens roared to life as he sat down in the black chair. He typed the required password and the computer greeted him by saying "Hello."

Opening the folder, Bruce looked at the new name on his list, Brian Marquis. He entered it into the query box and waited for it to search the local, state, and national databases for information. As he waited, he picked his brain for whatever he could about the young man. Bruce knew his father, Jean, a man of about 60 years of age. Jean was a rival businessman and one of Gotham's elite. They had been travelling in the same circles for years. At one time, Jean had sought a way to buy out Wayne Enterprises, to no avail.

Brian seemed to be the opposite of his father. The young man was always sullen and irritable whenever he had seen him. He also had heard about his indiscretions, particularly the one that supposedly required his father to pay off the family of a girl he had supposedly sexually assaulted.

A ding emanated from the computer, indicating the search was done. It seemed Brian Marquis had a record. Bruce examined it; he had convictions for petty theft, vandalism, possession of an illegal substance and assault. However, the charges had been dropped in the sexual assault case.

Doing more research on the blonde haired, blue eyed man, the results showed that he was a student at Gotham University, a pre-med major, shared a biology class with Miranda, and in a rival fraternity than that of Alex Harper. Could a pre-med get the pancuronium so easily? He needed to question Marquis and he had a good indication of where to find him if the most recent rumors he'd heard were correct.

"Good evening, sir, you're home early," Alfred stated as his voice echoed throughout the cave.

"Not for long, Alfred."

"Did you find anything?"

"Maybe. Tell me, Alfred, have you ever heard of pancuronium?"

"It's used in certain anesthetics, I believe."

Bruce turned in his chair and stood. "Could you research it while I'm gone and find out where to get it and what it would take to get it?"

"Of course, going back out on a night like this?"

"I have to; we're running out of time."

"Do be sure not to catch cold, if you do I'll make you take care of your own bloody self this time," Alfred quipped.

"And what would the fun in that be Alfred," Bruce shot, smirking as he pieced his suit together.

Alfred shook his head and grumbled, sitting in the black seat as Bruce walked to the Bat Pod. It roared to life and turned suddenly, lurching forward and disappearing under the cascade of water.

"Drive's like he's in a bloody circus show, he does," Alfred's lone voice stated, echoing through the deserted cave as he started his research.

* * *

Mirage was a swanky club on the outskirts of Downtown Gotham, rumored for supplying its patrons with more than just alcohol. Brian Marquis sat in the VIP room, snorting a line of coke with his friends. Taking in the feel, he listened to the pulsating music from downstairs in the nearly empty room. It was, after all, nearly closing time on a Tuesday evening. Hearing the door behind him that led to the roof slam open, the fair haired boy turned around.

"Hey, it's the Bat-Freak! Come to join our party?" Brian arrogantly shouted and turned back around, not caring in his daze that a man dressed as a giant bat was stomping toward him. Suddenly, he was jerked from behind and pinned to the wall, a gloved hand around his throat.

"Yo, Brian! I don't think he liked being called a freak, man," his companion joked until the Batman gave him a dark look, effectively shutting him up and causing him to cower in his spot.

"Miranda Robinson. What do you know," he growled menacingly.

"I don't know anything man!"

"How about that girl you raped? How did you get out of that?"

"I don't know what you're tal-"

"_Don't_ lie to me," Batman roared, shaking the boy violently.

"My-my dad! He-he paid the girl off. She dropped the charges," the boy quivered.

"Miranda. What do you know?"

"She was seeing that Harper kid. I was getting some on the side, but she came over after his party and broke it off. She said she wanted to be with him. I didn't do anything to her I swear. I liked her. I wouldn't have hurt her," he said in earnest, beginning to cry.

"Where did she go?"

"She said she was going back to her dorm. It was a five minute walk from mine. She wasn't in class the next day, I figured she was hung-over or something—she skipped a lot."

Batman released him and he fell to the floor with a thud, rubbing his neck.

"You should really find a new hobby," he growled, looking at the drugs on the table, before disappearing through the door from whence he came.

* * *

It was a twisted hunting game that he played. Find the prey. Stalk the pray. Then strike. Once you had them, punish them appropriately for their misdeeds. He was currently sitting in the smoky corner of the club, watching the fake blonde gyrate away on the dance floor. His past two victims had quelled the beast inside, the one that hungered for blood, but they hadn't been his typical choice of victim. No, _they_ had been different and had hurt others that he loved as well as himself. But now it was time to get back on track and to find a victim that deserved his personal touch; one that the world would be glad to be rid of.

He had seen the buxom pseudo blonde day after day at the coffee shop, twisting her hair around her finger as she entertained the previous night's conquest. He'd followed her to work a few times, some towering building in the financial district. He'd listened in on her conversations and had found out her nightly plans. This girl was quite the partier as it turned out and he had ventured out night after night following her. He was amazed that people could be so unaware of their surroundings—not that he was complaining, it made his job a lot easier.

Currently, the woman was getting ready to leave, this time with a new gentleman. That was alright though; he was only here to observe tonight. He had already overheard her plans for the approaching weekend.

A few more days and the hunter would have his prey.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the characters of my own creation.

**AN:** Sorry for the delayed update. Things have been kind of crazy. Rest assured, I WILL finish this story, so it's not going to be abandoned :). Also, the story is rated M for a reason and will be getting darker pretty soon, just to let you guys know. Anyway, enjoy and chapter 8 will be up sometime in the near future.

**AN2:** The first 9 chapters have been re-edited for grammatical errors. There isn't anything new so you shouldn't have to re-read it. But if you really want to I'm not going to stop you

* * *

_"It's just a little crush,_

_Not like I faint, everytime we touch"_

_Crush - _Jennifer Page

* * *

A crack of thunder peeled through the oppressive air as the heavens opened up their floodgates right as Nicole opened the doors to exit Wayne Tower. It had been a stormy week in Gotham and the humidity seemed as if it would suffocate her and deprive her of the precious oxygen she needed to survive—that is if she didn't drown first. Nicole had forgotten her umbrella and she was stewing over that fact as she stood at the crosswalk, waiting for traffic to clear or the walk sign to appear, whichever came first, she really didn't care.

Although she was thankful it was Friday, the day couldn't have been worse. The previous night's storms had left Nicole and Rebecca without power. Unfortunately, the roommates had had no idea their power was out and had both overslept. Needless to say, she had been late to work. The day had only gone downhill from there. Rebecca had visited her for lunch, seeing as how the elder brunette had acquired a much needed day off, and had brought a letter with her. It was addressed to Nicole and bore a marking indicating it was from her home town, only there wasn't a return address. With her curiosity getting the better of her, Nicole had opened the letter. It was from her former best friend, asking not only for her forgiveness, but for her help in wooing back her husband. It seemed Will had strayed once again into the arms of a willing family friend and her former friend was having trouble dealing with this and wanted to enlist her help in getting her husband back for the sake of his growing family. She had stated that if anyone could talk sense into him, it was Nicole, whom he still cared for. The audacity of her former best friend angered her and she had been sorely tempted to tear up the letter. Instead she showed Rebecca and her friend had tried to comfort her. She had suggested having drinks and movies in tonight to help get her mind off things, and Nicole had agreed.

Nicole had grumpily gotten back to work with her thoughts straying to the past. Unfortunately this caused her to make an error and she had accidentally deleted the data file she had begun earlier in the day instead of saving it. She had restarted the work, only to finish at around seven in the afternoon. Her thoughts of the day's events were broken as another peel of thunder rolled through the city and she noticed that she was finally able to cross the busy intersection.

The parking garage was a towering structure built for the use of Wayne Enterprises. During the day, the massive ten level structure typically was jam packed full of a various array of vehicles; now, however, it stood barren and almost foreboding, bathed in a dull yellow light from the overhead lights. Nicole, now soaking wet, opted to take the stairs instead of the elevator to the sixth level. She had a fear that even in an upscale, rather secure garage such as this, there would be someone waiting to attack her as soon as the doors opened. At least if she took the stairs, she'd have a chance to escape or fight back. Fortunately, today was not a day in which her fears would be realized. She saw her car sitting by itself and gave a sigh of relief as she walked over to it. After sitting her stuff inside, she shrugged out of her sopping wet black dress jacket, throwing it haphazardly in the back of the Blazer. She pulled her soaked hair into a wet messy bun and wiped the sweat from her brow. It felt as if she was in a steam room and the rain was only making the humidity worse instead of cooling things off.

She climbed into the bright red SUV, wishing she didn't have the drive ahead of her. She wished she could magically transport herself home without dealing with the idiot drivers that only seemed to appear when it was raining. She wanted to be at home, in comfortable clothing, with a nice alcoholic beverage and a good movie. She turned the key, only to hear a choking sound. Nicole blinked and turned the key again, only to hear the same noise.

"What? Come on, what the Hell!?"

She tried it again only to ear the sputtering of engine. She paused, hand on her key, and stared at the engine gauges. She occasionally had problems with the starter, but it typically sputtered to life after a few tries. She tried one last time only to hear the coughing of the engine. She sighed and pulled the lever that would pop the hood.

She got out and slowly walked to the front of the car, her chunky black boot covered footsteps echoing in the empty deck. She released the hood and opened it fully, staring at the engine in what little light there was. Everything looked fine, and after checking a few key elements, she realized, it was in fact, the starter. Well, she thought darkly, there's always hotwiring the damn thing, though she knew she would never do it.

She pulled out her cell phone and tried calling her roommate, who could at least pick her up. When Rebecca didn't answer, she tried a few friends that would help her fix the car. None of them picked up and she left the required voicemails. She stared at the engine as if it were foreign, feeling the rage and frustration build inside. It would figure that today, of all days, the starter would finally die, especially while she was in an empty parking garage. Now, she would most likely have to walk the multiple blocks in the pouring rain before she made it to the train station, unless she happened to find a cab, but those were rare to find after work hours on a Friday afternoon.

Nicole couldn't take the frustration and anger any longer and finally let it spill over.

"You fucking piece of shit car! Why the fuck won't you work!" Nicole began screaming, and even growling, at the SUV. She had just released a guttural scream while roughly kicking her front tire when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye and the sound of a powerful engine.

Nicole's now throbbing foot was suddenly forgotten about as the blue Lamborghini pulled up next to her. There was only one person who that car could belong to.

"Are you effing kidding me?" she questioned under her breath as she turned her eyes upward. She was still annoyed, for some reason she refused to fathom, at how Bruce and his girlfriend had treated her. Moreover, it annoyed her at how he seemed to shift personalities so easily and took him for being two-faced. In fact, the entire week, she had been cordial to the man but her body language had betrayed her, keying him into the fact she was still annoyed. At the time, she hadn't cared she was being overly judgmental toward the man.

Rolling down the tinted window, Bruce Wayne appeared with an amused look on his face, after all, it wasn't every day he saw someone trying to attack a car.

"Something wrong?" he questioned.

Standing with arms crossed and her hand clinched around her blue cell phone, she tersely replied, "It won't start. The starter's fried and it finally died."

"Do you need help?"

Nicole seriously felt like laughing at that question for multiple reasons, the main being that Bruce Wayne seemed to have just offered to fix her car for her.

"My roommate will know someone who can fix this, I'll talk to her about it when I get home," she managed with a straight face. Then she added "but thanks." Her mom did teach her to be respectful after all.

"How are you getting home?"

"I guess I'm walking or taking the train."

Bruce eyed her for a moment. The fact that her hair was still dripping wet indicated she probably didn't have an umbrella. The storm was only getting worse and it was a long walk to the train. Not to mention the later that it got, the more dangerous the streets became—even if it was the financial district.

"How about I give you a lift?"

"No, I don't want you to go out of your way for me; I'll be fine, really."

"I insist. Besides, the storm is only getting worse. You might as well say yes, I'm not going to let you walk," he said with his most charming and confident smile.

Nicole contemplated it for a moment. It was clear that he was insistent on the matter and it would keep her dry.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, get your stuff, it's no trouble," he soothed.

She nodded and closed the hood on her car before walking around to the driver's side door. She grabbed her things and slammed the door after locking it. As she approached the Lamborghini, she felt a bit guilty for getting into the car simply because she was soaking wet and it probably cost more than five times the year's rent of her apartment.

Bruce opened her door from the inside and held out his hands for her things. He took them and placed them securely behind the seat and gestured for her to get in. Nicole sat, sinking into the leather bucket seat and gently closed the door. She looked to her right and pulled the seat belt over her and clicked it in place, aware that Bruce was staring at her. She glanced up and gave a half smile and nodded.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem," he insisted as he gave her his trademark grin.

Nicole tried her best to stare out the window as the car lurched forward and took the turns, descending to the street below. She focused on the sound of the rain hitting the windows and the sights of traffic—anything but the handsome man sitting to her left. She felt incredibly out of place in the Lamborghini.

Bruce cleared his throat. "How's your foot?"

"Huh?"

"Your foot. You seemed like you were kicking that tire pretty hard."

Nicole felt the blush creeping up her neck. So he had seen that after all. "It's fine, just hurts a little."

"Bad day?"

Nicole was bewildered. How could he keep shifting his personalities like this? This was the "nice" Bruce, the one that she had met at the airport until that woman had shown up. Then, there was "tabloid" Bruce, when he acted like a womanizing jerk. There was "work" Bruce as well. She had seen him when he obviously wasn't aware, focused and obviously intelligent enough to handle owning an empire. So who was he really?

"What makes you say that?"

"You seemed distant at work, your car broke down, you're soaking wet, and I found you kicking your car."

She gave a small laugh. "Yeah, it's been a bad day."

Bruce drove down the expressway, not sure what to say to her. He realized she had been avoiding him for the better part of the week and that she was unnaturally prickly, even now. Part of him suddenly wanted to comfort her and hold her, and that was exactly the part of him that he was trying to shut out. This was his assistant. This was a girl with a bright future ahead of her that needed to steer clear of him and his nightly activities. She would be safe if he didn't let her get too close. Still, part of him remembered Alfred's words and, to be honest, he had been thinking a lot about those words lately.

He stared at her out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting rigidly, looking out the window, in her dress pants and a white spaghetti strap tank top. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun and wavy wet tendrils had fallen loose to frame her face. She wore no makeup, which he found pleasant—too often he saw women that seemed to have bathed in the stuff. Nicole might not have been a model, but she was attractive in her own right. And he was realizing just how attracted to her he was, whether she was sweaty with ruddy cheeks from having just climbed out of an airplane or sitting soaking wet in his expensive Lamborghini. He had to break the silence before his train of thoughts continued.

"I'm sorry, for what Angelique said and how she acted. And for dismissing you in such a way," Bruce said sincerely. He was finding it hard to keep the playboy act up around him and figured the least he could do was be sincere since the woman beside him was having a horrendous day.

Nicole looked up after recovering from the shock of Bruce being humble. "It's alright. You aren't responsible for your girlfriend's actions."

Bruce laughed. "Angelique isn't my girlfriend."

Nicole cocked an eyebrow at him, prodding him to continue.

"She was a date to a wedding, but, it just didn't work out."

Nicole laughed. "With an award winning personality like that, I wonder why."

Bruce smiled at her. "So what do you think of the Lamborghini?"

Nicole looked around. "Eh, it's okay if you like that kind of thing."

"You don't like it?"

"I like Ferraris better."

He laughed and soon the two were engrossed in a conversation about the differences between the two automobile makers. Nicole wasn't too surprised that Bruce knew the differences between the cars; after all, as a man that owned many expensive toys, he ought to know something about them.

For his part, Bruce was stunned the woman beside him knew so much about cars, in addition to history and airplanes. She was unlike most women that he'd met, with the exception of Rachel. They both had many of the same qualities, only Rachel had become distant and obsessed with cleaning up the city in her own way, much like he had. It had worn on her and she had become cynical and serious in nature. Nicole, however, retained a wide eyed innocence about her and an endless supply of wit. She was a breath of fresh air for him.

Soon, the expensive Lamborghini was parked in a space in front of a row of townhouses. Nicole began gathering her things and was about to open the door when Bruce stopped her.

"Hold on, I'll walk you up," he offered and held up his hand as she was about to protest. "It's pouring down rain and I have an umbrella. At least it will keep you from getting drenched again."

She nodded mutely as she acquiesced to his offer and watched as he walked around the car with the large black umbrella shielding him from the rain. He opened the car door and she slid out, standing in close enough proximity to him to take in his scent. He smelled of an expensive cologne she couldn't name but it was slightly spicy and sweet.

Together, they walked across the parking lot and up the flight of stairs as the rain poured down around them. She wondered, briefly, how they might look to the other residents, but her thoughts were pushed aside as they reached the covered walkway followed by her door. She hated awkward moments like these and suddenly it felt more as if she had been on a date than simply having someone drop her off at home, though she wasn't sure why.

"This is me," she said with a smile.

Bruce nodded as he shook out his umbrella. "Are you going the amusement park tomorrow?"

"I am actually, my roommate talked me into it."

There was an awkward pause as he nodded.

"Actually, would you like something to drink or something—maybe some sweet tea, I mean you did drive all the way out here?" she asked, not really knowing what else to say.

Bruce thought for a moment before nodding. "Sure."

"Okay," Nicole smiled, thinking of what her roommate's reaction would be, as she inserted the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and she motioned for Bruce to step inside.

"Nikki, finally, you're home! I thought you were going to stand me up and never come home," Rebecca called from her position on the couch without turning around.

Nicole smiled as she walked past Bruce, "I take it you didn't get my message then."

"Nope, I haven't checked my phone. So, I'm thinking drinks first, we'll get you nice and tipsy. Then we'll order some take out and watch a few movies."

Bruce looked questioningly at Nicole as she just grinned. "Becky, don't you even want to know what took me so long?"

The curly haired woman who was lying on the couch, facing the opposite direction sushed her as the news program returned. The perky, cosmetically enhanced blonde read the top entertainment stories, ending on one about Bruce Wayne.

"It appears that billionaire Bruce Wayne is back on the market after his attendance with Angelique Reyes to last week's lavish wedding," the reporter started before Becky yipped with excitement.

"Nikki, isn't that exciting, he's single again. I'm telling you, Nik, if you don't make your move soon someone is going to take that man off the market."

Nicole felt her cheeks redden and Bruce smirked at her.

"Tell me Nikki, how was Mr. Wayne today? Sexy as always?"

Nicole stared at Bruce as he widened his smile and she made a gesture for him to answer her.

"Actually, I wasn't aware I was always sexy," he charmingly answered, with humor in his voice.

Rebecca suddenly sat up straight and froze.

"Nik? Did your voice change?" she questioned.

"Nope," she replied, almost choking on the laughter she was holding back.

Rebecca stood and turned around slowly as her face went nearly white.

"Becky, my car wouldn't start and Mr. Wayne was kind enough to give me a ride home," she said as she grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Bruce Wayne, this is my roommate, Rebecca Blake. Becky, meet Bruce Wayne."

Rebecca recovered quickly and strode forward, holding out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Wayne."

Bruce shook her hand and gave her a smirk, "The pleasure is all mine—call me Bruce."

Rebecca nodded dumbly while Nicole shook her head as her boss charmed her roommate. Her bad mood had been forgotten as she laughed over her roommate's reaction.

"So, that drink?" she asked.

* * *

Nicole and Rebecca lay curled at opposite ends of the couch, each with a White Russian in hand. It had been hours since Bruce Wayne had left their presence and the two had been on a high. Nicole figured the alcohol probably had something to do with it.

Shortly after Bruce had left, she had asked Brent, a mutual friend of both Nicole and Rebecca, to help her fix the starter. He had stopped by and taken her keys, preferring to work alone. By the time he had returned the jerry rigged Blazer, Nicole and Rebecca were well on their way to being toasted. He had stayed for a few drinks before leaving the two to their own devices.

"So, Nikki, Bruce doesn't seem so bad now does he?"

Nicole snorted. "I guess not. I just don't get how he puts on so many faces. I never know who I'm going to talk to. It's weird."

"Well, how about get to know him?"

"Becky…" she started warningly.

"Nikki, the man brought you home and stayed for a drink and seemed perfectly nice to me. Dreamy, even."

"You're drunk."

"No, I'm being honest. Seriously, I think he _could_ like you. It's not every day you hear of Bruce Wayne picking up random assistants is it?"

"Well, if he actually is nice, then yes, hopefully he would pick someone up that needed help."

Rebecca thought for a second, trying a different approach. "True, but he wouldn't have stayed for a drink."

"Anyway," Nicole stated gesturing wildly, "I'd have to like him first."

"I'm sure if you gave him a chance you would."

For once, Nicole didn't have a comeback.

"Well, my dear, I'm going to bed. We have a long day tomorrow and I don't want to be hung over," Rebecca said as she stood. "Nikki, think about what I said," she suggested as she disappeared up the stairs.

Nicole stared warily into her own glass before downing its contents. She entertained the thought of liking Bruce Wayne. If he was anything like the man he had portrayed himself to be today, she would be in danger of falling for him. But could she trust him? Moreover, was that who he really was? Shaking the thoughts from her head, Nicole sat her glass on the table and stood, stretching her arms toward the ceiling. She felt a growing attraction to Bruce Wayne that she couldn't deny, but at the same time she didn't want to think about what it meant. Yawning, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Sleep beckoned her and she was going to answer its call.

* * *

Victor Zsasz prowled the Narrows, trudging through the wet and littered streets as he looked for a nightly companion. Despite it being a Friday night, it seemed the stormy weather had driven away most of the prostitutes down near the docks, which was his favorite haunt. His companions were generally paid well, both for their services and their trust—he was still a wanted man after all. So far, his search for an acceptable companion was proving fruitless. He remembered the raven haired beauty with emerald eyes that he had once enjoyed the company of. She was truly wonderful and had one of the most seductive laughs he'd ever heard. It was as close to love as he had ever been. But Katarina Collins was now gone and it was likely that he would never see her again.

The balding, scruffy looking man had just turned a corner when he was suddenly slammed painfully against the wall by a dark figure. It seemed the streets weren't quite so empty after all.

"Zsasz," came the growl

"So you didn't forget me after all, eh, Batsy?" he wheezed with a wry smile.

"Miranda Johnson, remember her?"

"She's the girl the Calendar killer got. But I never met her."

"She's the girl _you_ murdered," the Batman insinuated.

Dark laughter echoed through the alley as Zsasz cackled. "No, I never touched her. I never even met the broad. I've killed my share of people, but I'm not who you're lookin' for."

The Batman gazed darkly at Zsasz. "Their throats were slit and they were staged, just like the rest of your victims."

Zsasz's face contorted with rage. "I didn't kill those women. I _kill_ to liberate tortured souls. And when I _kill_ it's for that reason only. I don't torture my victims. I don't rape them. It's quick and clean. I never killed any of those women!"

"How did you know they were raped?" Batman growled.

"Katarina told me. She told me that he got a little rough with Bunny during one of their encounters. She wasn't his first victim you know."

"How do you know that?"

"It's what Kat said."

"Where is she now?" Batman inquired, applying pressure to Zsasz.

"Metropolis. She was afraid. She'd heard he'd killed there before, prostitutes of course. I told her to go there since he was in Gotham."

Before Zsasz could react, the Batman tore open Zsasz's button up shirt to examine his chest. It was common knowledge that he kept a tally of his victims there. There were only old scars—nothing fresh.

"I told you I didn't kill those girls"

"You're going back to Arkham, Zsasz," Batman growled as he put the murderer in a sleeper hold. As soon as Victor Zsasz was unconscious, he tied the man up before calling the police and leaving a tip about Zsasz.

As the Batman continued his patrol, only one thought ran through it; If Victor Zsasz hadn't been behind the murders, who was?

* * *

It sounded as if there were a jackhammer pounding away at something. Nicole pulled the covers farther over her head, trying to shut out the noise to no avail. With a huff, she kicked the covers off of her. There had been a woodpecker attempting to peck through the vinyl siding next to her window for the past three days. Ordinarily, she would have laughed at the wayward bird, but this morning, her head was pounding.

Squinting from the brightness of the room, she slowly rose from her comfortable position, on a quest to find aspirin and sustenance. As she slinked into the kitchen, she was taken aback by the scene. Her roommate was not only standing fully dressed and bright-eyed, but cooking breakfast—and all before 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

"Morning Nik Nik! How'd you sleep?" The bouncy brunette said cheerfully.

Nicole stared at the girl as if she had two heads. "Where is my roommate? Seriously, are you like a pod person or something?"

Rebecca laughed. "It's a wonderful morning Nikki, why can't I be happy?"

"Did you somehow get laid?"

"No."

"Are you still in shock from meeting Bruce?"

"Oh, its _Bruce_ now is it? What happened to all the formalities, huh?" Rebecca said teasingly.

Nicole just stared blankly at her roommate.

"Well, Nikki, if you must know, I'm excited that we get to spend the day together, at Amusement Mile! I have such happy memories of the place and I'm really excited."

Well shit. She had totally forgotten about going to the amusement park this morning. She blanched. The last time she had been at an amusement park, the day had been disastrous to say the least.

"Nikki, what is it?"

Nicole shook her head. "Nothing major, but you have to promise you won't laugh."

Rebecca nodded her head as she continued scrambling the eggs with the spatula and waited for Nicole to continue.

"I'm afraid of roller coasters."

Rebecca froze with the spatula hovering above the frying pan and a wry smile upon her face.

"You, the girl who thinks flipping around in a plane is fun, are afraid of roller coasters; something that doesn't even have the G force of the stuff you do in a plane. Am I missing something?"

"I'm not afraid of flying through the air, at _my_ control. When you're on a roller coaster, you have no control. Not to mention, the last time I was on a roller coaster, the safety bar malfunctioned and I was almost thrown out."

"Well, that would be scary I suppose. Anyway, you know what they say; you have to face your fear. So what better way to do that then to drag you onto the biggest and wildest ride there? You have no say in the matter either," Rebecca glinted darkly, ceasing the protest from her roommate. "Besides, there is more danger in flying in a plane thousands of feet above the ground than in a roller coaster I helped design."

Nicole dejectedly dropped down onto the bar stool and placed her head upon her hand. She knew Rebecca was right, that it was a really inane thing to be afraid of considering her own hobby. For some reason, the thought of relinquishing control and relying on something mechanical, or even something human for that matter, to keep her safe scared her witless. There were few things that the brunette could say she was truly afraid of and that was number one on her list. Spiders and death followed at a close second and third.

A cream colored plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast slid to her place at the bar, nudging her arm and breaking her train of thought.

"Cheer up Nikki! It'll be fun, I promise. Think of it as another adventure—we know how much you love adventure. And eat, that will fix your hangover," Rebecca stated as she winked at her roommate and turned to fix her own plate.

Nicole nodded and began to munch on the piece of bacon she had picked up. She had wanted excitement in her life just a few weeks ago hadn't she? Sure, this might not be backpacking through Europe, but it was something different. Sitting there eating her breakfast, Nicole vowed to stop worrying over the impending day and to have fun.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I definitely don't own anything in the Batman world except my own creations and plot bunnies. If I did, I'd have my own personal Bruce Wayne.

**AN: **Yay for reviews/alerts/favorites! I'm glad you guys like the story, even if you aren't reviewing. Alerts are always a good sign! Thank you for taking a chance on this story and taking the time to read it!

**AN2:** I've re-edited the first 9 chapters for grammatical errors. There's no need to re-read the chapters unless you want to since the content hasn't changed.

* * *

_"There's nothing I'd like_

_Better than to fall_

_But I fear I have nothing to give_"

_Fear _– Sarah McLachlan

* * *

The first rays of light glinted off the glass window panes that lined the dingy street. The birds took no notice of the dereliction and dilapidation of the crumbling brownstones as they sang their morning melodies. The morning was still early enough to be devoid of human activity and cool enough to offer sweet relief to the man in the basement of one particular brownstone.

He held the drill erect, holding the trigger, as it fastened a metal screw with a shrill whine into the newly reinforced wall. He had spent the past week, reinforcing and securing the basement, before picking up a few "toys." Although the morning air was cool, the dank and still air in the basement had caused him to break a sweat. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand as he removed the next screw from his clinched teeth.

He had returned to Gotham, the place he had abandoned years prior, for one reason; to lay his grandmother to rest. His strong, sweet, grandmother; she had been everything to him after his parents were gone. She had raised him and helped him through school. When she had passed, he had returned to settle her estate, never meaning to stay long.

But he _had_. The old lady had seen to his return, hadn't she? In her dying days, she had revised her will and stated that he would inherit everything if he agreed to return to Gotham and seek gainful employment in the industry of his choosing for at least a year. She had always told him, that his family was from Gotham, had given their lives to serving Gotham, and the least he could do was continue on in the family tradition of living here. He was the last one that could carry on the family name and traditions. It had fallen to him to resurrect their family name from the gutter hadn't it? Sardonically, he supposed he was doing just that by rectifying eons of wrongs.

The drill gave a violent shutter in his hand before it stopped turning, indicated that the last screw was in place. He stood from his crouched position, brushing the dirt from his dark wash jeans, and staring at his accomplishment. Before him was a set of shiny steel chains that mirrored the set mounted on the opposite side of the room. He'd thought it would come in handy to have an extra set as a failsafe, though he hoped he wouldn't need it.

While going through his grandmother's papers, he had come across the deed to the ancient brownstone—the very one that had been his childhood home. He had long thought that it had been sold or demolished, but was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still standing and was now his. His family had owned and lived in this place for years and it felt had like home from the minute he stepped through the ancient door. He had been even more surprised that the place had never been broken into or vandalized considering its location near the Narrows. In fact, it turned out that his grandmother had leased the building up until a few years ago, keeping the original furniture in the place. This was his place, his _home_—the place where it all began decades ago; and the place he would continue his work.

* * *

She was laughing at him. Not the pseudo, forced laugh that many women in his presence used to please him, but a genuine, hearty laugh. Her dark eyes twinkled with mischief and merriment as she stared at him with her hands still playing with the tendrils of dark hair on the back of his neck. She was content to be in his arms and he, for the first time in recent years, was completely and utterly happy. People were staring at them as the two danced across the floor, and he was partly sure that not all of the onlookers were well wishers for the happy couple. The woman before him was not part of Gotham's high society, nor was she like any woman he had ever met—not even Rachel. No, this woman meant everything to him and was everything he had ever wanted. As they glided across the polished dance floor, he realized his life was perfect.

Suddenly he felt her tense in his arms. He stared with concern at the wide eyed expression she pasted on her lovely face. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but the words hitched in his throat as he caught sight of her tears. She gave a cry of horror as she tried to wrench free of his grasp. The woman turned, obviously frightened, and began to run as the crowd around them disappeared into the darkness that lay beyond. He gave chase, following her through the dark corridors, trying to save her. But what was he trying to save her from? He wasn't sure. He chased her down a long, dark hall and watched as the woman disappeared through the door way. She turned back; her face marked with tears as she grabbed the door and began to shut it.

"Nicole, wait!" he growled.

Suddenly he stopped breathing as the mirror clad door slammed close. He was no longer the Bruce Wayne that everyone fawned over. He was a monstrous version of Batman.

* * *

His sleeping form was sprawled out, face down, across the king sized bed that was adorned with satin sheets, which rested near his lower back. Unruly dark hair sprung from his head, indicating to Alfred that his master had most likely spent the early hours of the morning tossing and turning; most likely as a result from the nightmares his master seemed to suffer from. He was about to place the sparsely decorated breakfast tray on the mahogany table adjacent to the bed when he heard it.

"Nicole."

Alfred stiffened slightly at the name, not quite sure he had heard the younger man right. It was rare, if ever, that Bruce spoke in his sleep. In fact, Alfred could only remember him doing it as a young child, but never in recent years. The older man stood ramrod straight for a moment, pondering, briefly, if this was the same Nicole that was introduced as Mr. Wayne's assistant and what Bruce could possibly be dreaming of. Just as he moved to wake his master, Bruce Wayne's relaxed mouth gave a garbled noise, just as his sleep laden eyes violently sprang open.

"Ah, good morning Master Bruce, I was just about to wake you," Alfred greeted. Although he was intrigued as to what seemed to be distressing his charge and what Ms. Miller could possibly have to do with it, he decided to let Bruce tell him in time, as he typically did.

Bruce maneuvered himself into a sitting position with a haunted look on his face while running a hand through his unruly hair as he sharply exhaled. He finally looked at his old friend, trying to smile, although it never quite reached his eyes.

"Morning Alfred," Bruce mumbled, his voice taking on sleep induced hoarseness.

"I trust you had an uneventful night then," Alfred deduced from the lack of fresh bruises that had dotted his form as he reached for the glass of his pea green tinted shake.

"Quite the opposite actually. I found Zsasz," he paused to take a gulp of the smelly concoction and instantly made a sour face noting the unusual smell. "Did you poison this? I know you want the Lamborghini, but really, all you had to do was ask for one."

Alfred rolled his eyes at Bruce's antics. "I added tarragon to your shake. It's rich in Omega-3's or so the article said. You could do with a bit more protein. And it is supposed to have a sweet taste. It might actually make that blasted thing taste well."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. He had tried many strange things before, but this smelt of molded licorice if such a thing existed. Shrugging it off, he took a gulp of the concoction before a scowl marred his features. "This is absolutely revolting Alfred! It tastes like vomit and black licorice, neither of which taste well. You're losing your touch old man."

Alfred smirked. "In that case sir, might I suggest that you drink it quickly?"

Bruce gave his butler a dark look before chugging the rest of the contents. After giving the glass a pained look he placed the offensive glass on the breakfast tray. "Zsasz said he didn't do it."

"And do you believe this man?"

"Yeah, Alfred, I do. His logic was sound and he had no new scars. He also knows the girl who IDed the first body. She said she'd heard the killer was originally from Metropolis. Zsasz sent her away so she would be safe."

It was only momentary, but Alfred noticed the haunted look in his eyes when he mentioned the girl's safety. "And when do you plan on going to Metropolis?"

"Tonight," Bruce stated as he launched into his push-up regime.

It seemed as if the haunted look that Alfred had previously witnessed had dominated Bruce's mood. There was tenseness in the man's form that was rarely present during his training and it seemed as if he were pushing himself as hard as he possibly could, almost as if he were trying to push something out of his mind.

"Forgive me, but is something troubling you, Sir?"

Indeed, something was troubling him, Bruce was just didn't want to admit to himself what it was. His growing attraction to Nicole seemed to be an uncontrollable monster in and of itself. No matter how much he focused, it seemed she was determined to invade his thoughts. As much as he craved to know her, to be in her presence, it was her very presence that he was afraid of. The closer he grew to her, the bigger chance he had of hurting her, either through his own actions or at the hands of his enemies. If he were completely honest with himself, he was afraid she wouldn't accept the darker part of him and the need to be Batman. Even Rachel hadn't accepted his need for Batman or his brand of justice.

He rose to his feet, sweat running down his face as he stared at the older man. What was he to say—'Alfred, I had a nightmare and I'm terrified of being alone with my assistant'?

For his part, Alfred had been studying the younger man's reactions as the war within Bruce's mind raged on. Taking a rare step over the fine line between manservant and confidant that the elder man walked, Alfred decided to press his master for an answer.

"Master Wayne, would your mood have anything to do with Ms. Miller?"

Bruce looked hesitantly at his butler, unsure how the man could possibly know. "Yes."

Alfred Pennyworth was no fool. His powers of observation were keen. He had noticed his employer's unusually chipper mood last night and how freely he explained his evening with Ms. Miller. In those rare, unguarded moments when he was just Bruce without any mask, Alfred could read his master fairly easily. And last night it seemed that Bruce Wayne was quite taken with Nicole Miller. However, Alfred knew all too well the burdens that Bruce carried. He had watched him struggle after Rachel's death and throw himself into the darkness, even proclaiming once that he would never let anyone near him again. Alfred knew Bruce still blamed himself, though he couldn't be held responsible for the actions of a madman. Unfortunately, his charge was too blinded by grief to see that. The plain truth was that Bruce Wayne was utterly terrified of letting anyone in. Alfred couldn't fault him for that. At the same time, Alfred felt that his master needed a nudge in the right direction. Thomas and Martha Wayne had entrusted the happiness and care of their only child to him, and he would be damned if he would fail them now, after so many years.

It was with this resolve that Alfred decided to offer his advice and experience to the younger man, praying that for once, the stubborn man would take it. To garner his attention, Alfred did something he had only done few times before.

"Bruce."

At hearing his name, Bruce Wayne's head snapped up, partly out of shock. The only times that Alfred had ever used his given name had been when he was in extreme trouble or when the situation was extremely serious and garnered such attention. Patiently, he waited for the older man to continue.

"Your mother and father entrusted me not only with your care but your happiness," Alfred paused momentarily to gather his thoughts. "Ms. Miller seems like she could bring you happiness, if you take that chance. Only you can make that choice. No one deserves to be alone forever, even if he is dedicated to fighting the demons of the night."

Alfred sighed as he picked up the breakfast tray. "I do hope, you make the right choice." And with that, Alfred left a stunned Bruce Wayne, staring at his retreating back.

* * *

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Just keep breathing and you'll be okay—feel the stress melt away. At least that's what Nicole kept telling herself. She was currently sitting in a hard, emerald green seat with the heavy black harness over her on the front row of _The Beast_—Amusement Mile's fastest, craziest, and most daring roller coaster; at least that's what the brochure—and Bruce Wayne himself—proclaimed. Nicole and Rebecca had somehow arrived in time for the opening ceremony that had featured Bruce Wayne as the keynote speaker. According to him, and the entire team of engineers, _The Beast_ was not only the top roller coaster in the park, but now the country. The engineers had been asked to come up with something that pushed the boundaries in almost every way imaginable. In addition to the positive G forces that were prevalent on almost every amusement ride, this one featured negative G's—in moderation of course—top speeds of over 100mph, multiple loops, twists, inversions, hills, valleys, dark tunnels with unexpected surprises—you name it and this roller coaster had it. As Bruce described it, she felt the sudden urge to run away screaming.

So here she was, waiting on the inaugural ride of _The Beast_ to begin, sitting on the front row, sandwiched in between her vengeance minded roommate and the debonair playboy himself. She stole a glance at Rebecca, who managed to grin back at her as if she were enjoying this way too much for her own good. Rebecca was the sole reason that the pair was here, and as she remembered, she frowned at her roommate.

Bruce Wayne had just cut the ribbon for the park and ordered his employees to have fun. He was fighting through the throng of reporters, answering questions that ranged from his choice of attire to when could they get a publicity shot. Rebecca had slyly dragged Nicole with her, proclaiming she needed to talk to her mentor, who helped design the wild ride, and who happened to be standing right next to Bruce. She remembered the scene all too well.

"Wayne, hey, Wayne!" Rebecca called, waving her hand in the air.

Bruce glanced up, trying to find the source of the voice in the crowd before him. Still standing on the wooden steps that led to the stage, he was able to see the happy, curly haired brunette in the bright yellow tube top and Daisy Duke Shorts trying valiantly to get his attention. He also was able to see the figure from last night's dreams being violently dragged behind her. The shorter, paler girl was dressed moderately in comparison in a black halter top that showed her assets nicely and a pair of olive green cotton pants. Her hair was hastily thrown up into a bun and she had a perpetually confused look that adorned her facial features.

At seeing the cheerful girl trying to fight through the reporters, he raised his hand and beckoned them forward. The reporters seemed to part in some sort of comical rendition of the parting of the Red Sea and soon the girls were able to approach the wooden railing of the stairs.

Nicole drew a breath at seeing her employer in casual wear and started to feel a heat in her cheeks as she realized she was staring at him, more specifically at his chest since it was easily defined by the tight shirt. She was suddenly glad she had a pair of black sunglasses to hide her dark eyes, although it was so bright out and her eyes were so dark he could probably see through the shading anyway. However, she soon realized that he had turned his attention to her friend and was waiting patiently for her to explain the reason why she needed his audience.

"I need your help," Rebecca said simply.

Bruce smirked. He had to admit he was amused by the elder brunette. "Oh?"

"Nicole's afraid of roller coasters, and quite simply, I'm afraid she's going to chicken out," Rebecca stated as she slyly looked at her roommate. While she was sure her friend wouldn't go back on her word to try the ride, she thought she could use this scenario to play matchmaker—not to mention, Nicole deserved payback for last night's joke.

"Becky!" The subject of the conversation said through clinched teeth while turning six shades of scarlet.

Bruce eyed her for a moment. She was clearly embarrassed of her fear, but part of him wondered if that was the only reason. He had notice the flush in her cheeks a few minutes prior just as he had noticed the stare she was giving.

"I see. The girl who pilots planes for fun is afraid of a ride on a roller coaster," he gave her an amused smile.

Nicole mumbled something inaudibly that Bruce couldn't quite catch, though he thought he heard the word bastard mixed in.

"Basically. So, Wayne, do you think you can help us out?"

And that is, quite simply, the reason she was sitting in the emerald seat now. Sighing, she tried to watch the operator for any indication of when the ride would begin while Bruce simply watched her. He could tell she was ill at ease, though he hadn't wanted to pry as to why she was afraid. He had listened to her breathing technique and found that it had achieved little to calm her. He knew her well enough to know that whatever was causing her fear had stemmed from an incident of some sort rather than an irrational fear.

"Nicole," he lowered his voice so only they could here.

Hearing her name she turned to him, her eyes dilated somewhat, indicating she was terrified. He had to admit, if he hadn't had the training that he did, he would have never have known that the younger woman was so frightened.

"This ride has been tested, as recently as an hour ago. It's safe, I promise you. And if it isn't, I give you permission to hit me," he smiled genuinely and reassuringly. "Now listen, you are safe and secure and I promise you, nothing is going to happen. If anything, you will love it. Whatever happened to you before, there's a one in a billion chance of it happening again. Think of this as one of your aerobatic lessons. Those have higher G loads, faster speeds, and more risk. This is a walk in the park for you. Besides, the only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on."

Nicole stared intensely into his eyes as his words sank in. He was sincere, that she could tell, and he was having a calming effect on her that she couldn't quite explain. Just as she was about to answer, the ride began to creep forward and she turned her attention onto the exit of the tunnel.

Bruce, for his part, knew what was about to come. Despite himself, he removed his hand from the silver handle located on the side of the harness and grabbed Nicole's from hers, tightly and reassuringly holding her hand in his. She looked at him, questioningly before he gave her a wide grin. The ride shot forward, propelling them suddenly out of the tunnel and up and over the first rise. Nicole screamed with all her might, forgetting Bruce Wayne and the fact that her hand was in his. Rebecca managed to turn her head to see her friend and her employer, smiling in joy that her efforts were not in vain.

A few minutes later, the ride pulled into the hub with Nicole's heart pounding and her stomach in her throat. Nothing had happened. Moreover it was _fun_. With a smile on her face and a sudden exhale, she reached to unclasp her harness when realization dawned on her. Bruce was still holding her hand.

"Um, thanks for holding my hand," she stated, not quite sure what to say.

Bruce smiled genuinely at her as he let her hand go reluctantly. "How was it?"

"Surprisingly great. Seems like I worried over nothing."

"Told you," Rebecca chimed in.

Nicole moved to stand up and found that her legs felt a little shaky. At seeing her pale face and her uneasy gait, Bruce knew that Nicole was suffering the effects from having her blood sugar suddenly drop after being so anxious.

"You know what, I could go for a snack, why don't you girls join me?" Bruce suggested, not wanting to isolate Nicole.

"That sounds like a great idea! I can always go for grubbage!" Rebecca joined in, having noticed Nicole's reaction as well.

Nicole nodded, not really caring what they did as long as she could sit down for a minute and gain control over the sudden weakness that she felt.

Upon exiting the ride, Nicole placed her sunglasses back upon her face to shield her eyes from the bright light. In the Uptown section of Gotham, a breeze wafted in from the river carrying scents of food from a nearby stand. She looked around, pleased that it was turning out to be such a great day.

"Mr. Wayne!" a young male reporter shouted. "I'm Louis Zane from the _Gazette_. Could I possibly get a picture of the three of you since you're leaving the inaugural ride?"

Bruce nodded and looked to his companions who acquiesced to him. Bruce positioned himself in the middle and wrapped his arms around both Rebecca and Nicole. Nicole suddenly thought about how she seemed to fit perfectly against his taller stature before she caught herself. She hated acting like a school girl with a crush. Even worse, she shouldn't even _have_ a crush on the man. She wanted to curse Rebecca for adding life to the seed she had planted in her brain. She smiled, nonetheless, at the camera.

The trio made their way to a table near a typical carnival stand before Bruce ordered them to sit, saying that he would return with the treats and disappeared to the other side of the stand.

"I can't believe you told him I was terrified of roller coasters! Becky, are you trying to drive me to an early grave?" Nicole stated accusingly.

"He was holding your hand."

Nicole took on the appearance of a guppy as she opened and closed her mouth, not quite sure how to retort. "You _planned_ this?!"

Rebecca, obviously pleased with herself, smiled at her roommate. "You obviously weren't going to initiate anything. I saw an opportunity and took it. You _like_ him; you just don't realize it yet. I know you Nikki."

Nicole's rebuttal was interrupted as a tray containing drinks, funnel cakes, and cotton candy was placed on the table. She looked questioningly at Bruce.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted so I got the basics. Eat, it should make you feel better," He said as he grabbed a bottle of water.

"How did you know?"

Instead of answering, he handed her one of the small plastic bags he had been carrying while giving the other one to Rebecca. Raising her eyebrow at the billionaire, Nicole removed the plastic framed picture and gazed at it. There, sitting on the front row of _The Beast_, was Nicole Miller—screaming with excitement and holding Bruce Wayne's hand as if her life depended on it.

* * *

James Gordon cradled his cup of black coffee as if he were holding on to it for dear life, though he wondered briefly if it really _was_ coffee since it held all the properties and taste of sludge. He stood wearing a grim expression as he watched the interrogation of Victor Zsasz through the double sided mirror. Before the sun had even thought of rising for dawn, Gordon had been awakened by the shrill ringtone of his cell phone. The words were simple. "We found Zsasz."

Of course, what the responding officers had left out was that Zsasz was found in a back alley, tied up and unconscious, courtesy of the Batman. Though he was thankful that the notorious murderer was finally in custody, his hope that they had found the Calendar Killer was waning. Zsasz was adamant in declaring his innocence, which was uncharacteristic of him. In cases involving his prior victims, he not only admitted his guilt but explained his reasons. He saw himself as a savior of the oppressed. He saw himself as someone doing a kind deed by liberating a tortured soul. It was that fact, among the obvious sociopathic issues the man possessed, that had given him a one way ticket to Arkham Asylum in place of Blackgate Prison.

Even more disturbing to Gordon was the idea that if Zsasz wasn't the murderer he was looking for, then he was left not only without a suspect, but with virtually no evidence or clue as to who the menace could be. Frowning as he took the last gulp of his bitter drink, he could only hope that Batman's extensive resources could help crack the case.

* * *

He was sitting in his favorite armchair, a vintage maroon wingback chair that had obviously seen better days, eating a shiny red apple. Beside him lay a well worn leather bound edition of _Dante's Inferno_, in which he had been reading to pass the time. It was among his favorite works, and to be honest, one of the few books he seemed to have read multiple times over the years. This particular copy had belonged to his father.

He loved his father, despite the nasty rumors that persisted about the man. He had been a brilliant man, well-educated and well read. His father read to him nightly before bed, took him to Gotham Knight's games, all while putting himself through med school. His father had adored his mother and had doted on her constantly. But that obviously hadn't been enough for the ungrateful wretch, he thought as a scowl marred his handsome features.

Rising from the chair, he walked across the scuffed hardwood floor to the antique record player. He removed a shiny, black record from the thin paper sheath that protected it and placed it on the turntable. Slowly, sounds from the past began to waft through the room as the Andrews Sisters crooned about the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. His grandmother, God rest her soul, had been a child during the First World War and often told stories of how the family had gathered around the radio. She had been hooked on music and books from the start.

After his father had gone away, she had raised him and he had taken solace in her vast music collection. He would often imagine himself in another era, a time where people were virtuous, where honor mattered, where true love existed. A time in which this city was great. He yearned for those days.

Slowly, one person at a time, he would show them what mattered. He would teach this world to see the error of its ways.

* * *

Cassidy Jenkins stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to decide which color of eye shadow would compliment her eyes and outfit the best. Her platinum blonde hair was curled, with the longest tendrils reaching just above her cosmetically enhanced buxom. They had been a present from a past lover, whom refused to leave his wife. However, that was in the past and she had gotten her amazing rack from the failed affair.

One of her friends, Josh, was leaving Monday for boot camp, and the group had made plans to go clubbing tonight. She was more than a bit melancholy over the fact, which wasn't like her at all; though that probably had more to do with the fact she liked Josh. Pushing the train of thoughts from her mind, she bent forward over the sink, mouth slightly agape as she smoothed a bit of the glittery pink powder over her eyelid. Tonight, she was going to look ravishing and she was going to tell Josh how she felt. Tonight he would be hers. Tonight would change everything.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer** I don't own Batman in anyway, but I do own my characters.

**AN:** I'm very sorry for the delay in updating. This semester at school was rough and I took a break to focus on school. However, I'm now back to writing so you can expect more updates. Also, I'm not 100% happy with this chapter, but I promised myself I would update this story by my birthday, and it's my birthday! Hope you enjoy it!

**AN2:** I've re-edited the first 9 chapters for grammatical errors. There isn't anything new in the content so there's no need to re-read it unless you really want to

* * *

"_Watch out for the snake in the grass_

_Cause it will get your ass."_

_Snake in the Grass_ - Vallejo

* * *

The pulsating bass throbbed through Nicole as she made her way to the crowded bar, shoving past gangs of women who were dressed far nicer, albeit more scantily, than she was. She managed to find a small opening between two rather hulking men and squeezed through it to the silver metallic bar. As she waited on the bartender, she looked out across the rotating dance floor that occupied the center of the club. Hue, one of Gotham's newest and most popular dance clubs was jam packed full of young people, drinking and gyrating on the dance floor. It was certainly the "it" spot to be on a Saturday night.

Upon seeing the bartender move toward her, she tried to flag him down to no avail. In a place this busy it would be a while before she could order drinks for her friends and herself. Letting a sigh escape her glossed lips, she lightly drummed her fingertips against the cool metal surface, becoming slightly annoyed at the drunken men pushing up against her.

She briefly thought about the events of the day. After Bruce had left them to entertain the rest of his employees, Nicole and Rebecca had enjoyed their day at Amusement Mile, riding various rides and snacking on carnival food. Both women were now sunburned and fairly tired from their adventure but had come straight from the park to celebrate a friend's birthday. Rebecca had teased her mercilessly about the events from earlier, trying to get her to admit her growing affection for Bruce. At this point, Nicole wanted to deny the fact that Bruce Wayne even existed. She tried to rationalize that Bruce was being nice to her because he was her superior, not to mention she routinely took care of him at work. The simple fact was that liking Bruce Wayne would open up an entire can of worms that she didn't feel entirely equipped to deal with. Sure, there was the issue that was Bruce Wayne himself, but she didn't want to face her fears. She had been burned badly, which made her all the more wary of dating. Truth be told, she wasn't eager to delve into that part of life again; to deal with the stresses and emotions that relationships brought. She didn't want to have to rely on someone, much less have to face the risk of trusting someone. For Nicole, admitting that she liked Bruce Wayne meant she would have to face her past and her emotions—and she just wasn't ready for that. Not yet. She was, however, ready for something stiff to drink.

Suddenly someone knocked into her violently, pressing her even closer to the bar, so much so that she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe. She turned her head, prepared to give a scathing look to whoever had caused the discomfort when she noticed the perky blonde next to her smiling apologetically.

"Sorry about that; I accidentally tripped while trying to get through the crowd."

Nicole nodded silently while trying to flag the bartender down yet again. It seemed as if she were never going to get a drink in this place.

"He doesn't seem very interested in us, if you know what I mean."

Nicole chuckled softly, at the woman scowling next to her.

"By the way, I'm Cassidy. Cassidy Jenkins. Is this your first time at Hue? I don't mean to offend; you just seem a bit…out of place."

Nicole took in the blonde's made up appearance. She was attractive and exuded sexuality with her sparkling eyes and glossed pouty lips. The dress was obviously expensive and insanely short and low cut. It stood out in stark contrast to her own simple appearance considering she hadn't even changed from her day at the amusement park and wore not even a hint of make-up with the exception of her lip gloss.

"Actually it is my first time here, and you didn't offend me. It was sort of a spur of the moment decision to come here for a friend's birthday. My name's Nicole Miller, but everyone calls me Nikki," she said with an honest smile.

"Well Nikki, what do you say we get those drinks," Cassidy smiled before turning around. "Ah, there she is! Hey, Jenny! What's the deal, we can't get service anymore?"

Nicole could only assume that the petit raven haired woman who had just exited the storeroom was Jenny. She threw a towel over her left shoulder and gave Cassidy a smile as she ambled toward the two women.

"Cass! So great to see you! Sorry about the wait, we're packed tonight. What will it be?"

"A Guiness, a Heineken, and three Buds. Oh and Jenny, my friend Nikki here needs a few drinks as well—and put them on my tab," Cassidy stated, gesturing toward Nicole who was now awkwardly standing there. Sensing Nicole's protest, Cassidy held up her hand. "I insist, it's your first time here and I did stomp on your foot with my heels. That had to hurt like a bitch!"

Jenny laughed. "What'll it be hun?"

"Three Jagerbombs, two rum and cokes, and one long island iced tea."

Jenny noted the drinks and disappeared, gathering their order.

"You can hold your liquor can't you," Cassidy asked slyly.

Nicole simply smiled innocently.

"Here you are, girls," Jenny said as she plopped down the drinks on two small trays. "Just bring the trays back when you come to pick up your tabs or get more drinks."

Nicole picked up the tray and bid Cassidy farewell, eager to get the night's festivities started. After all, she still needed that drink.

* * *

Metropolis was a pristine city filled with towering glass skyscrapers that was located across the Delaware Bay from the shores of Gotham City. Throngs of laughing tourists roamed the streets of the bustling downtown area, sampling the fine dining and nightlife that Metropolis was renowned for, which was considered some of the finest in the country. But Batman hadn't come to Gotham's sister city to enjoy such frivolities; he had come to talk to Katarina Collins.

Finding her hadn't been as hard as he thought it would be. On a whim, he entered her name into the database of his computer and it had returned a single hit—a lease for a loft signed less than a week ago in her name. He had to admit he was somewhat surprised that she had used her given name considering her concerns of being found by a serial killer, never mind the fact she was able to lease a relatively expensive loft near downtown Metropolis.

He stood in the darkness, his eyes vigilantly watching for any signs of life in her loft. The faint sound of key being slipped into a lock was amplified by the microphones in the ears of his cowl, alerting him that the young woman was about to enter her home. Sure enough, the light was soon on, showing the young woman slipping off her shoes in the sparsely decorated apartment. A few seconds later, Katarina was walking into the kitchen. It was time for him to make his move.

Batman leapt from his perch and floated down to the balcony of the loft. He managed to land softly with little noise and without being seen by any tourists below. He soundlessly jimmied the lock of the balcony and slipped into the darkness within before sliding the door shut behind him. He had maneuvered himself away from the window and was creeping along the wall when he heard the sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor getting louder.

Katarina padded into the room as she pulled her dark hair from the messy pony tail. She unzipped the blue and white standard waitressing uniform and let it fall to the floor before climbing out of it. She threw open the closet door and switched on the closet light as she started fervently searched for something. With her arms full of clothes she turned around and dropped them with a shriek. Before Batman could react, Katarina was brandishing a Louisville Slugger and charging at him. She landed a hard blow on the side of his cowl before he took the bat away, and he was thankful that his cowl could withstand the blow, he didn't need a trip to Metropolis Memorial Hospital tonight.

Katarina shrieked once more and made an attempt to run out of the room. Batman swiftly caught the smaller girl, clad only in a black lacy set of matching underwear. He had to admit he felt a little remorseful for intruding upon the woman's privacy like this until she landed a blow on his lower jaw. Katarina had a hell of a right hook.

"Stop fighting, I'm not going to hurt you, I only want to talk," he painfully growled.

"You killed all those cops and you only want to talk?! Like hell you do!"

"If I wanted to hurt you, you would be dead. I just need information."

At this, the woman calmed slightly as if she was contemplating his words.

"And if I give you this information, you'll leave me alone?"

"Yes."

Katarina resigned herself with a sigh as her shoulders slumped in defeat. Feeling the woman relax, Batman let her go and handed Katarina the bat as a show of good faith. Suddenly, she whipped around and swung the bat, stunning him briefly. It was all the chance she needed as she darted towards the door. Batman stood up and maneuvered his head to loosen the now tense muscles he had. She was really starting to irritate him. As he rounded the corner he was met by a flying vase. Easily ducking it, it hit the wall and shattered. As he came closer, Katarina became desperate and made an attempt to run for the door. He tackled her in mid stride and the two of them crashed to the floor, where she continued to fight.

"Stop. Fighting." He growled menacingly. It only made the fighting worse. Gritting his teeth in frustration he tried again. "I want to find who killed Bunny."

At Bunny's name, she suddenly stilled. Batman took his chance. "I need your help to find who killed her and the other girls. If you don't help me, we may never find him."

Katarina suddenly gasped for air and Batman knew she was choking back her tears. "How did you know where I was?"

"Zsasz told me where to find you."

She looked momentarily frightened before she took a deep breath. Batman released her, trusting she would do the right thing. Katarina sat up and stared at him.

"You're the only one that can help me. I need you to tell me everything you know."

Katarina nodded and began her tale.

* * *

She couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to burst into tears or scream as she forcefully made her way to the bar from the back of the club, her eyes moist with tears that threatened to spill at any moment. From the moment they had entered the club, Josh had been surrounded by girls throwing themselves at him. It was to be expected considering how attractive he was, yet that fact didn't quell the jealousy she felt. After a couple of hours, Cassidy had managed to get the object of her affection all to herself. And then she had sprung it on him. She told him how much loved him and wanted to be with him. That she would give anything to be with him. And the bastard had told her she was like a sister to him and had given her a half smile before walking into the arms of some other woman.

Cassidy wasn't used to rejection and in all honesty, she couldn't remember the last time she had been rejected by a guy. In fact, she hadn't even given the present scenario much thought. She was so sure Josh would feel the same about her. Pushing through the crowd, Cassidy had a sudden desire to run through the exit and out into the night; away from everything and everyone. But she couldn't bring herself to run away from anything, and she sure as hell wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her heartbroken over him; no, it was time for her to move on to bigger and better things. After all, there were bound to be many eligible bachelors here tonight, meaning she didn't have to go home alone.

As she stood with her back to the bar, waiting on her drink, she caught sight of Nikki and her friends taking a shot and singing yet another round of Happy Birthday to a small Puerto Rican girl who was obviously being celebrated. Cassidy typically was a great judge in character and had instantly liked the girl. She seemed shy and a bit unsure about the big city, but Cassidy had no doubt this girl was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, especially if and when she finally broke out of the shell she had obviously built around herself.

"Busy night, isn't it?" a deep rumbling voice purred next to her. Breaking her stare, Cassidy turned to the left to find the source smiling at her. He was tall and good looking in a way that was subtle but wholesome, with his blonde hair tousled in a style that was popular. Brilliant sapphire eyes gazed back at her and flickered with a hint of mystery. She gave a quick look around to confirm he was talking to her before she put on her best flirtatious smile.

"I've seen worse," she commented nonchalantly with a shrug of her shoulder before looking to the back of the club to allow herself one last glimpse of Josh. It was time to move on. "But from where I'm standing, the view isn't so bad. Buy me a drink?"

* * *

He had been watching her from the back of the club for most of the night. The way she moved, how she tilted her head back to laugh, the way her attention seemed focused on the dark haired man. He had to admit that he hadn't taken into account the woman's affection for the man. At first he had been concerned that his attempts would be thwarted. But soon, it became apparent at the one-sidedness of her affection, even though that only eased a few of the snags he faced.

He had been on his way to the bar in the early evening in hopes of following her and striking up a conversation when he saw the young dark-haired girl she was conversing with. He had seen her once before, when he stopped to help her in the rain without receiving as much as a thank you in return. Truth be known, he had been sorely tempted to abandon Cassidy as his target in favor of this girl. Not only did she need to be taught manners, but he seemed inexplicably drawn to her. The young girl had crossed his fantasies multiple times since their brief encounter. To see her standing there with his intended victim seemed too surreal. So he had fallen back and watched from afar to wait for the opportune moment, not wanting anyone to recognize him. And eventually, after nearly two hours of waiting, that moment had arrived when it seemed Cassidy's heart was crushed and she was turning to the bar for a drink.

He had swooped in, gracefully, though he had to admit he was surprised she so willingly threw herself at him. Maybe things were looking up from the problems he faced earlier, he wasn't sure. At any rate, it seemed too easy. All he had to do was continue to buy her drinks.

"So, Scott," Cassidy drunkenly slurred as she licked her lips, "What do you say when this place closes, we go back to your penthouse in Gotham Towers. I'm dying to see one."

The blonde man smiled, "Oh, really? Well, it's only half an hour to closing time," he said looking at his watch. "Why don't you have another drink, say goodbye to your friends, and then meet me down the street at Gotham Towers. It's only two blocks. And in the meantime, I'll get everything ready for a night you will never forget."

Cassidy smiled and he knew his trap was set. He bought her another drink—something incredibly strong—and sent her off to her friends. He turned and smiled at her before he left the club. After all, he did promise Cassidy a night she would never forget—and he intended to keep his promise.

* * *

Nicole picked up the plastic cup that contained her fifth Long Island Iced Tea of the night and swallowed the remnants. The night had been a blast so far and the trio of girls was joined by more of their friends, creating an impromptu party. She checked the time on her cell phone and was amazed that it was already last call; she couldn't remember the last time she'd danced so much, not to mention had so much to drink; and she was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. Dropping her cell phone back into her black handbag, she turned toward the group before plucking the cherry out of her plastic cup.

"Going to tie the stem into a knot with your tongue Nikki?" one of the guys that had joined them, she thought his name was Ryan, asked, receiving a slap on the shoulder from Becky, who obviously liked him.

Nicole rolled her eyes as she munched on the cherry after she removed the stem.

"Guys, Ryan has offered for us to take the party back to his place, what do you say?"

Nicole looked around the group, suddenly realizing that she was the odd girl out of a group that seemed to be pairing off. She knew for a fact Becky wanted to hook up with Ryan tonight and was pretty sure Ellie was eyeing the other guy, Nick.

"Actually guys, I think I might head out," she answered to a chorus of "aws."

"Nikki, how are you getting home?" Ellie asked.

Nicole laughed. "Oh, a cab I suppose. Don't worry guys, I'll be fine," she said as she picked up her bag. "I promise, scouts honor," she added, giving a small salute, at their disbelieving looks before making her way to the exit.

* * *

Cassidy's red stiletto heels clicked on the pavement as she staggered down the empty avenue, her small clutch under her arm and a tube of lipstick held firmly in between her fingers as she applied more to her plump lips. She might have been wasted but she could at least look her best for the man she was about to sleep with. And that man was Scott Alexander. She had fully expected to go home with someone tonight, but she hadn't expected Scott to be so charming. Or rich. She let out a squeal of excitement at the thought of staying in a luxurious penthouse as she dropped the golden tube of lipstick back into her silver clutch. He may not have been Josh but part of moving on was to immerse yourself in something else, and Cassidy was sure that there couldn't have been a better way than a passionate night with a millionaire. It might not take away the hurt, but it was one hell of a comeback.

Cassidy saw the immaculate Gotham Towers, only a block away now. Her feet were starting to ache from the height of her heels. Oh the price we pay for beauty she thought wryly. As she passed the nearby alleyway, she never saw the black figure waiting in the darkness.

Suddenly she was thrown off balance and felt herself falling backwards. She thought she might have broken a heel and was plummeting to the ground until she felt something warm and leathery over her lips and something solid against her back. Panic flooded the young blonde girl as she began to fight back, haphazardly trying to push away from the strong figure that held her. She began to scream, though it was muffled. The only thing she could do was try to make as much noise as possible. Hoping someone, anyone, could hear her. She gasped in pain as something sharp was roughly jabbed into her neck. Did someone just give her a shot of something?

She fought for a few more minutes, her limbs growing heavier with each movement and her screams being silenced by whatever was covering her painted lips. Cassidy Jenkins lost consciousness just as she was dropped to the ground.

* * *

It was funny how the air outside always smelled fresher after you'd been drinking Nicole thought as she heard the heavy door close behind her, silencing the mass of voices that came from inside the densely packed club. Looking around, she saw that the streets were devoid of any activity, not that there should be any activity at almost 2 am, but she had at least expected to see a taxi or some wayward car. She paused for a moment, plucking a hair tie out of her handbag to pull the mass of dark hair into a bun. It may have been late at night, but the heat seemed to be trapped between the buildings in Gotham. She paused for a minute, looking around for any signs of life before she began walking toward the train station, thankful that it was in service throughout the night. Still, she hoped that she could find a taxi. During her short duration in Gotham, she had never needed to take the train at night considering she normally used her own vehicle, but she had heard stories about the random muggings and other petty crimes that often plagued the more rundown stations in the city. She realized she should probably be wearier of the dangers that lurked in the darkness, but frankly she was too tipsy to care much about anything.

She was amazed at the transformation Gotham underwent at night. During the day, these streets were jam packed with bumper to bumper traffic and the sidewalks were bustling with pedestrians. But at night, everything was eerily quiet and empty. It seemed all of Gotham had been deserted while she was in the club. The majority of the buildings that lined the street were businesses that had been emptied of their patrons and employees hours ago. The only light came from the ornate street lamps and from Gotham Towers in the distance. Still, she welcomed the solitude. Besides, she had always been a night person.

As she continued walking, the only sounds she could hear were the treads of her shoes gripping the worn concrete sidewalk and the sound of something moving in the alley up ahead. She was about to brush it off as a large rat or homeless person rummaging through the dumpster of the restaurant bordering the ally until she heard what sounded like moaning. She was about to brush it off as a trick of the imagination and continue on when she heard a metallic clang followed by more moaning causing her breath to hitch in her throat.

She quietly crept toward the darkened alley as her stomach began to tighten in fear. She unconsciously tried to quiet her breathing as she pressed herself close to the brick wall of the building beside her. Reaching the edge of the building, she peered around the corner into the darkness.

She caught sight of the woman, her bare legs kicking at anything that was in the vicinity as she struggled to free herself from the dark figure behind her. Just as the woman seemed to catch her footing in the alley, the figure jerked her to the side, catching the girl off balance and giving Nicole a glimpse at the woman's face. She gasped in surprise as she realized it was the woman from the club, who was now being assaulted. She forced the panic rising in her stomach back down as she realized she couldn't watch Cassidy be mugged—or raped for that matter—she had to do something. She didn't have time to call the police, knowing they would never get there in time anyway, so she had to take matters into her own hands.

Not knowing what to do, she ran at full speed toward the dark figure, alcohol thankfully dulling the fear and rational voice in her mind that would have insisted she run away, and tackled the man around the torso, sending all three figures to the ground.

"Cassidy, run!" she screamed as she began beating what she presumed was the back of the ski masked figure's head, only to feel a deep rumble beneath her as the dark figure began laughing.

"You couldn't just mind your own business could you," the figure asked, catching Nicole off guard and throwing her off of his back onto the cracked, hard pavement next to her. Before she could scramble away, the figure moved with lightning speed, straddling Nicole and pinning her arms to the ground.

"What did you do to her," she managed to croak out as she struggled to wrench free of his strong grip.

"What a novel concept, a woman concerned about someone other than herself! You know, you _are_ intriguing," he paused to shake his head and emitted a low chuckle at the mixture of concern and confusion that marred Nicole's features. "Don't worry about her, my sweet. She's fine for now at least. You on the other hand," he added as his voice trailed off.

Nicole relaxed and drew a deep breath as she stared into the man's unmasked blue eyes. He was distracted for a fraction of a second and somehow she managed to kick him in the back of the knee, causing him to shift his weight and allowing her to shove him off of her. She hopped to her feet and began to run in the opposite direction, only to come face to face with the brick wall of the restaurant.

Turning around, Nicole backed up farther from the man as he advanced, noticing for the first time how truly intimidating he was. He stood nearly a foot taller than she and was clad from head to toe in black, making him look even more ominous than he had a few moments ago. Her eyes darted around searching for anything to use when she found it; a small metal pole near the dumpster beside her. Quickly, she grabbed the melee weapon and swung it at the man's head, only to have him laugh as he caught it.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid," he asked sardonically as he ripped the weapon from her hands.

Nicole's breath hitched once again in her throat. The only way to safety was through him. She charged the man, only to be thrown into the wall behind her, her ankle twisting as she fell on it. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with fear, and unable to call for help. She tried to crawl away but was roughly grabbed by her ponytail and pulled upward as she grunted in pain. She began blindly swinging and kicking, trying anything to get away, when she felt her foot collide with something hard and mercilessly fell to the ground as her assailant cried out.

She sprung upward, trying to run, stumbling a few times before she was unceremoniously pulled backwards and thrown into the side of the dumpster, hitting her head on the metal corner in the process, and knocking her unconscious.

The dark figure scowled beneath his mask as he walked toward Nicole's crumpled figure, checking to make sure she was out cold before turning his attention to her purse that lay in the middle of the alley. After a moment of digging, he removed her wallet and found his prize.

"Nicole Miller, so that's your name," he asked aloud, staring at her form. He examined the photo and address once more before he returned everything to its place in her bag and dropped it next to her figure. He looked back to the blonde that lay in the alley. He still had time before she would wake up, but it he would be cutting it close. He walked to Cassidy's figure and slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder.

"Well Nicole, tonight isn't our night sweetheart. But don't you worry, I'll see you soon." With that he continued to the end of the alley where he dumped Cassidy in the gracious trunk of an old black Buick, left to him by his grandmother, which had been well hidden by debris in the back of the alley. Once his victim was secure, he slid behind the wheel of the ancient boat of a car, and disappeared into the dark of night, without leaving a trace behind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything associated with Batman

**AN:** I've finally updated! I'm sorry for the delay but I haven't had my laptop which had all of my writing stuff on it. Fortunately I'm able to use a different computer while mine is being fixed. To all those that have favorited/alert/reviewed, thank you so much! It means a lot. I should also mention that I've taken liberties with a few of the characters like Zsasz and the Calendar Killer. For those of you that follow the Batman-verse closely you'll realize that. But since this is Nolan-verse I changed a bit and conformed it to this story. I just wanted to throw that out there. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"_Now the dark begins to rise  
Save your breath, it's far from over  
Leave the lost and dead behind  
Now's your chance to run for cover"_

_I Will Not Bow _– Breaking Benjamin

* * *

Benito Manicini stood in front of the wooden cutting board, dicing tomatoes, while immersed in his own thoughts. Since opening Sapori D' Italia only a few months ago, Manicini had spent many nights in his fine dining establishment, though many of those nights were spent in a managing capacity. It had always been his dream to own such a place, though he had never really imagined the headache that went along with it. Still, he was fortunate enough to break even in the past few months. The cost of having his business in the heart of Gotham's downtown district was staggering and he found himself looking forward to the chaos that today's holiday, Father's Day, would bring, if only for the extra monetary security.

Manicini wiped the tomato juice that saturated his palms on his white apron and scraped the remnants from the cutting board into the trash. He carefully tied the black trash bag into a knot and carried the awkward item as he made his way to the heavy steel door located on the side of the building. He opened it and stepped out into the early morning air that was already full of heat, and threw the bag haphazardly into the dingy green bin. He would be glad when winter came and these scorching temperatures were abated. He quickly turned to open the door, fully intent on returning to his chores, when he realized there was something amiss.

Looking back at the bin, he saw a shoe sticking out from the other side and sighed heavily. Most likely another homeless man had made his way to the alley, probably looking for scraps, and had passed out. He prayed to God that the man wasn't dead—that kind of publicity was the last thing he needed for his restaurant. Just as he was about to yell at the offender, he realized that it was no man at all, but a woman who seemed to be crumpled over. Suddenly Benito felt on edge. He lifted her head slowly and winced as he saw the dried blood that covered her right eye and the left eye that was swollen shut. Whoever she was, it looked like she'd had a hell of a night. He slowly pulled his cell phone out of the plastic holder clipped to his belt and dialed in 911.

* * *

It felt like the Earth was going to open up and swallow her at any moment from the intense shaking. She was pretty sure it already had considering the putrid, rotten stench that seemed to surround her. She was sure that she was on her way to Hell judging from the heat and the stench. Slowly, the first thing that Nicole became truly aware of was the nauseating pounding of her head. The second thing was a voice was urging her to respond.

She forced open her matted right eye, which only led to more pain, and winced at her savior—a burly paramedic that looked as if he should be riding with the Hell's Angels rather than riding in an ambulance. Her lips twitched upward in a half smile as she inwardly laughed at the irony that Hell would have paramedics and those paramedics would be the Hell's Angels of all people.

The paramedic scowled at her as if he could hear her thoughts, and she briefly wondered if he could, before he abruptly turned and began shouting at the other paramedics to get a stretcher and that she was responsive. It was then that she managed to take in her surroundings and was dismayed to realize that she hadn't dreamed the attack. Furthermore, she was disgusted to realize she was sitting in a gooey pile of rubbish and it was that fact that made her stomach lurch. She must have turned green because the beast of a paramedic shoved a pink plastic bed pan in her hands with the instructions to vomit in it and not on him.

She scowled at being manhandled and being placed on the stretcher so violently. She'd tried to protest but the paramedics would have none of it. In fact—they virtually ignored her, only speaking to her to ask what hurt and to tell her that she would have to be checked out at the hospital due to a potential head injury. Several times, she attempted to tell the paramedics about the struggle from the previous night, only to be told someone would be along soon enough to take her statement as she was being shoved into the back of the ambulance. At least the smell was better in there.

Nicole had finally decided to close her eyes, hoping to stop the spinning of the room and the new wave of nausea that threatened to swallow her when the metal doors opened up, sending a blast of heat and stench her way. She had decided to give her dirtiest look at the gruff paramedic but was surprised to see a rather young officer with a mop of coppery blonde hair pulling himself awkwardly inside through the open doors. It amused her as he tried to fit his tall, borderline lanky frame into the cramped space, but she contained her amusement within. She studied his face as he turned from closing the doors and a brief flash of recognition ran through her, though she couldn't remember ever meeting this man.

"I'm Officer Mitchell," he stated giving an agreeable smile that felt oddly soothing to her. "Your ID states that your name is Nicole Miller; is that correct?"

"It is."

"Ms. Miller, can you tell me how you came to be in the…state you're in?"

Ha. _The state_. She'd overheard the paramedics taking bets on whether she was drunk or not. The officer probably believed she'd simply passed out in the alley after drinking too much, like the paramedics, and it was that fact that irritated her.

"I was attacked after trying to help Cassidy Jenkins escape from her attacker. But I couldn't. He took her anyway after he beat me up and shoved me into the dumpster. That, _Officer Mitchell_ is how I came to be in this _state_," she spat, full of annoyance and remorse over the situation.

For Officer Stuart Mitchell, those four sentences would irrevocably change his life forever.

* * *

Bruce Wayne's eyes burned from staring at his state of the art computer monitor for too long. He had arrived back at the Manor a little after 5am, and had only removed his cowl before plopping down into the leather chair and hacking into Metropolis PD's database.

Katarina's tale had been a chilling one. Bunny hadn't been turning tricks long before she met her murderer. At first, she appeared with little things; mainly bruises around her neck and bruises on her arms. Katarina didn't want to pry and when Bunny caught her staring, she mentioned that her regular was into bondage and dominance. Katarina shrugged it off until the day Bunny had showed up at her apartment bleeding with cuts on her neck. Her trick had pressed a knife to her throat during one of their regular sessions after screaming about how worthless women were. She had no idea what she had done to upset him so she stayed quiet. He had gone on to say that he had "done things" to women in Metropolis for less and had made reference to strangling a stripper and slitting the throat of one woman.

Katarina had begged Bunny to go to the police but Bunny adamantly refused, stating that he would kill her if she did; he had said so himself. Bunny had begged Katarina not to say anything, and until last night, she had upheld her promise. Now it was time for Bruce to uphold his promise to her and to the women who had been murdered.

Most killers get sloppy at some point. Bruce was hoping that this particular killer had left some sort of evidence in the beginning. But hours of fruitless searching had yielded results. Zoey Carpenter was found strangled to death in a hotel room she had rented near the place she stripped at. Trace evidence had found hair at the scene—blonde hair fibers—but there wasn't a DNA match in the database that Metropolis had.

The murder of Sylvia Varese was more brutal. She had been found in a dumpster with her throat slashed. The scene had been far to contaminated to get any sort of trace evidence, except for a drop of blood that wasn't matched to anyone. In fact, they weren't even sure it was the perp's blood. But it was a start.

Bruce set the parameters for the DNA search, thankful that his computer had access to many more databases than Metropolis PD, considering they had never linked the two cases. Hopefully the search would be done by time he woke up.

* * *

Nicole was sore and still smelled like garbage as she jiggled the key in the lock, thankful her neighbors weren't outside to see her disheveled appearance or smell her, for that matter. The lock finally clicked, allowing her to open the door and step inside the quickly darkening apartment. A storm was brewing; she could smell the rain in the air and see the darkening on the horizon. She had to admit that she loved summer thunderstorms, and with Gotham being so close to the Atlantic Ocean, there was no shortage of them.

She threw her keys into the catch-all basket near the door as she shut it and headed to the kitchen for a Coke, thankful that her roommate wasn't there. She didn't feel like explaining the black eye and her concussion, much less why she smelled like refuse. She staggered up the stairs, coke in hand, and into her room, grabbing the first pair of clean clothing she came to, and headed directly to the bathroom.

Once inside, she kicked the door closed with her leg while simultaneously pulling her top over her head, all the while briefly wondering if she would ever get the smell and the stains out of her clothes. Once unclothed, she turned the shower on and set the temperature for as hot as she could stand it. Stepping inside, she winced as the strong jets hit her bruised skin, but quickly relaxed as she felt the heat begin to soothe her body. She wasn't sure how long she stood like that, with her eyes closed, breathing in the steam. All she wanted to do was wash away the stench and the guilt; the guilt that she hadn't been able to free Cassidy from her attacker. She knew it was silly, that she had done what she could. Somehow knowing that just seemed to make it worse. Switching off the shower, she quickly dried off and dressed into a tank top and gym shorts before drying her hair.

As she emerged from the bathroom, she noticed the lightning in the distance and the subsequent thunder that followed. She opened the door to her balcony before moving to the window. Once the windows were open, she turned toward her bed. It was an antique full sized bed adorned with a simple black comforter with various pillows and her old teddy bear that sat in the middle of the bed. It was a piece of home, of innocence she had brought to a city that lacked it. In fact, she was quite happy to see it at the moment.

Opening the can of Coke, she guzzled part of its contents, thankful for the refreshment that it brought her parched tongue. She really hadn't had much to drink since the night before. The hospital had said something about beverages interfering with the tests that they had run and had refused to even give her water. By the time the taxi had picked her up, she was ready to leave that wretched place. Thankfully they had let her go without much of a fight considering she only had a few bruises and a mild concussion. But they had given her pain medicine, Norco, which was apparently a mixture of hydrocodone and acetaminophen. She popped one in her mouth and chased it down with her Coke, hoping to alleviate the symptoms of the concussion and every other ache she had, before she fell into the mass of pillows on her bed.

She blew a piece of her hair out of her eyes as she watched the lace curtains gently raise from the breeze outside. Her last thoughts before she fell asleep were of the impending storm.

* * *

It was a bright morning in Gotham, the kind of morning that had teenagers calling in sick to work to head to the beach for the day or to some other frivolous activity. But Jim Gordon was not a teenager and took little notice of the happiness of a new day. He sat behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, and his mouth set in a grim line as he read over the weekend's police reports, specifically those that might help with the case in any way. The mayor was already breathing down his neck this morning about the Calendar Killer, and even without the mayor's influence, Jim's own conscious taxed him. He had seen what that monster had done to those women, to someone's daughters, which made it all the more real to him, especially after spending Father's Day with his own children—though he had given specific orders to be contacted if anything happened with the case.

But Father's Day came and went without any mutilated bodies. While the city might be breathing a sigh of relief, Jim waited with baited breath, wondering if one would turn up today. Running his hand through his mop of hair, Gordon picked up a new report and started to read. His instincts were put on alert after reading that the victim was assaulted, and soon, his instincts were put on red alert as the victim alleged that one Cassidy Jenkins was not only kidnapped, but possibly drugged by a masked man. Even in a city notorious for crime, the event that had taken place stood out. Picking up the phone, he punched in the extension for the secretary and barked at her to find Officer Mitchell.

* * *

She sat clicking away at the keyboard, entering appointments into the electronic planner for Bruce, while trying to squash the feeling of anxiety that was rising by the minute. Nicole had been rather late getting to work, over an hour in fact, and had missed seeing her boss, whom she assumed was here, before he went into a board meeting being held in the conference room down the hall. After all, he might've been a spaz but he typically didn't miss the mandatory monthly board meeting. Nicole had actually contemplated taking the day off, but the truth was that she needed the money to help cover school expenses in the fall. Not to mention, after the ordeal Saturday night, she would have just sat around the apartment dwelling on what had happened. At least here, Nicole could keep busy.

She was distracted momentarily by a barely audible gasp, presumably from a passerby, although she refused to look away from the data in front of her. She'd heard gasps like that all morning. Hell, if it hadn't been her own face, she would have been horrified as well. Her left eye was no longer swollen shut—ice had helped that—but the bruising was harsh, even when covered by make-up. Her lip was still split and two butterfly bandages held the wound together on the right side of her forehead where she'd plowed into the corner of the dumpster. In retrospect, she could have covered the wound on her lips with lipstick, but it honestly stung too bad to bother with. Still, she hated being stared at in such a brutal way. She hated that feeling of being on exhibit as if she were some zoo attraction.

Before she could further muse over just how uncomfortable she was, an audible rise in voices approaching from the hallway signaled that the meeting was over. Most members of the precession passed in front of her without looking her way since she was just a secretary, though she was perfectly content with that. However, she could feel his eyes on her before she felt his presence behind her.

"Well, look who decided to show up for work today," Bruce bantered. "I was starting to—hey, are you okay," he asked, dropping the banter, as he glimpsed her face for the first time.

"I'm great. I just overslept."

Bruce wasn't going to let it drop. "What happened? This weekend I mean?"

"Bar fight," she responded simply. There wasn't any point to drag her boss and possible friend into the nastiness of the weekend. After all, there wasn't anything he could do about it. Besides what would she say? _Well, Bruce, I attacked a guy who was kidnapping this girl and he might be a little pissed at me and might think I can identify him. So there's a slim chance he's going to come murder me in my sleep. _Sure, that would go over spectacularly.

"Are—" he started, only to be cut off by the sudden approach of a familiar face alongside a much taller stranger.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm Jim Gordon and this is Officer Mitchell," he said gesturing to the taller man at his side. "We're with the Gotham City Police. We're sorry to disturb you but we need to talk to Miss Miller. We also think that you need to be informed of the situation. Is there anywhere we could talk privately?"

Bruce could have sworn Nicole looked panicked for a split second, and judging by the air of intensity that surrounded Commissioner Gordon, he knew that whatever it was that the older man had to say wouldn't be in the form of a pleasant conversation. For once it seemed that Bruce was out of a loop he so frequently immersed himself in—and he didn't like it one bit. "Would my office be okay?"

* * *

Nicole stood in front of the silver mirror in the lady's room, staring at her own reflection, trying to abate the acid churning in her stomach that threatened to rise through her esophagus. To say that she was scared was an understatement. She was fucking terrified. When she stepped into that dark alley, she did it knowing that Cassidy had no savior on the way. She knew she was putting herself at risk, even in her half inebriated state. In a city where crime was rampant and few stood up to it, she had stood up for Cassidy. She couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that made her leap off the edge of the proverbial cliff without abandon. But be it her naivety, her small-town southern values, or knowing that someone else would be hurt, she had attacked the attacker. And now she knew why people refused to stand up for others in this town—she was most likely going to be hunted and anyone that got in the way of the hunter could be hurt.

When she'd followed the three larger men to Bruce's office, she knew the reason wasn't a pleasant one. She had sat in one of the plush office chairs, wishing it would swallow her whole the entire time as Gordon spoke. The slim chance scenario she'd thought of was worse than she could have ever imagined. Gordon explained that the timing of the kidnapping, the victim herself, and the use of drugs to sedate the victim pointed to the Calendar killer. Furthermore, the psychological profile that had been cooked up mentioned that the man would likely want to retaliate for her attack, though not in those words of course. All this terrified her, even though she kept her poker face in place, which she'd been told was a decent one. She managed to process exactly how serious the situation was when she was assigned a bodyguard in the form of Officer Stuart Mitchell.

Taking a deep breath, she washed her aching face with the ice cold water now spewing from the copper faucet. As she dried her hands, she willed herself to be calm. It wasn't going to help anyone if she ran around sobbing. This was the hand that she'd been dealt and nothing was going to help that.

Depositing the brown paper towel into the trash bin, she tugged on the cool handle of the heavy wooden door and was met with the harsh fluorescent lights of the reception area she worked in, which only served to strengthen the pulsing ache in her head.

"You okay?"

Nicole jumped, her hand immediately rising to her chest as she closed her eyes and let out a breath before turning to see Stuart Mitchell in the corner behind her. "I'm fine."

"You sure? You look a little pale, if you don't mind me saying so."

She did mind. She felt overwhelmed with having a bodyguard, the fact she might be hunted, of putting her friends at risk, and of failing to liberate Cassidy. She briefly wondered who wouldn't look a bit pale as she walked to her desk with her bodyguard following her. But being bitchy about it to the man only looking out for her wouldn't do anyone any good. "Officer Mitchell, I'm fine—really. Tell me, are you going to be with me all the time?"

"Call me Stuart. And for all intents and purposes, yes."

"Then I suggest we get lunch," she offered, smiling kindly for the first time since meeting him. Yes, it was time to live with the hand she was dealt.

* * *

Bruce Wayne's gaze was filled with dark intensity as he watched Stuart Mitchell escort Nicole to the elevator through his office window before flicking the blinds shut, darkening the lavishly decorated space. He sat lightly in the chair for a man filled with anger and burdened with guilt. He was unsure of his feelings for Nicole, though he considered them to at least be on friendly terms. And in his carelessness he had inadvertently grown closer to the woman. She had run blindly into a dark alley and put herself into danger to save someone else, which nagged at him. After all, it was what he did on a nightly basis. Still, he felt protective of her, especially now. Moreover, he was angry at himself. If he had delayed the trip to Metropolis to another night, he might have caught the Calendar Killer himself and the whole thing would be over. But he wasn't even in the city, _his_ city, the place he was supposed to protect. And because of that, a friend had been hurt and an innocent woman had been abducted, and possibly murdered by now.

Bruce wondered how Nicole was dealing with this new knowledge. During the conversation, Bruce's face bore a stoic gaze while Gordon's was intense. Nicole's, however, was varied. Bruce could tell she was fighting with herself on the inside, from guilt he imagined. And he still felt partially responsible for not saving her from that. But Bruce had already decided that she would have another watchful guardian looking after her. Alfred was right, Nicole was not Rachel. Rachel was dead and he had failed to save her from the Joker. Nicole was still alive and he would make sure she remained that way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything associated with Batman. I own Nicole and Becky and Stuart.

**AN:** Not my favorite chapter, but useful for character development. We'll get back to the action next chapter and the return of Batman! As always, thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favoriting. It means a lot!

* * *

"_Sweet surprise I could get used to,_

_Unusual you."_

_Unusual You –_ Britney Spears

* * *

"That's going to kill you, you know," Stuart harped in disgust as he started at Nicole.

Rolling her eyes, Nicole continued chewing the offensive bite of cheeseburger that she had just taken.

"I'm serious! Do you know how much fat is in that? The meat alone is loaded with grease and fat but then you add the cheese and the mayonnaise—"

"There's no mayonnaise," she said as she swallowed. "I can't stand mayonnaise."

Stuart smiled wryly. "Who doesn't like mayonnaise? Everyone likes mayonnaise."

"Nicole has a problem with anything white and creamy," Rebecca stated suggestively as she sank into the plush red seat next to Stuart, startling him. "Where'd you find this one and what happened to— Holy Shit! What the hell what happened to your face?!"

"Well hello Rebecca, it's lovely to see you too."

"Seriously, what happened since you left the club? You got mugged didn't you? And what does tall, ginger, and lanky have to do with it?"

Stuart narrowed his eyes at her description of him. "I'm Officer Mitchell. You must be Nicole's friend."

"Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. Who are you and why are you even here," she interrogated tartly.

"I believe I've already told you my name, miss…?"

Sensing that Rebecca was probably ready to verbally castrate the young officer if she didn't get an answer soon, Nicole decided it was time to intervene. "Becky, he's here to help," she soothed.

"Help with what, getting your shit back? Jesus, I knew I shouldn't have let you take the train by yourself," Rebecca exasperated as she shook her head.

Nicole looked at Stuart, seeking his approval that it was alright to tell her friend what had really happened. He slowly nodded his head, knowing that the situation would affect not only Nicole, but her roommate as well.

"Becky," Nicole started and then hesitated. "Becky, I wasn't mugged. Do you remember the girl at the club that helped me get our drinks? The one I pointed out?"

Rebecca paused for a minute before answering. "Yeah, the blonde chick, right?"

"Right. Her name was Cassidy. Anyway, after I left, I started walking since I couldn't find a taxi and heard a struggle in alley, over near that new Italian restaurant."

"You saw her get mugged," Becky asked, hoping for the best.

"Not exactly. I saw her being attacked."

Before Rebecca could answer, the plump waitress in a pink diner dress with a white apron appeared with a chicken salad and set a menu in front of Rebecca before placing the massive salad in front of Stuart, earning him an odd glance from Becky as she recognized the officer was about to eat her favorite dish.

"Nicole. Please. Tell me you didn't do what I think you did. You didn't. Right," Rebecca pleaded as the waitress retreated.

"Well if you think I tried to help her by running blindly into alley to subdue the attacker, well then, you would be absolutely right."

Rebecca closed her eyes. "What on Earth possessed you to do that? You've heard too much about Batman and its gone straight to your head."

At hearing the name of Gotham's most wanted vigilante, Stuart paused with his fork full of lettuce in the air. "What do you know about Batman?"

"Just what I've read in the paper. He goes around at night, fighting crime, and helping people. You know, the same stuff everyone else has heard," Nicole answered carefully, confused by his tone and sudden change in topic.

"He's killed people, a few of them officers. How can you possibly think he's going around helping people," Stuart chastised.

"Because, he does. Listen to people talk sometime. Listen to the stories. If he's so hell bent on murdering people, why hasn't he killed more people? "

"Rumors aren't always true you know. And who's to say that he hasn't killed before? People go missing in this city all the time. Even people like Cassidy."

"But Batman didn't kidnap Cassidy," Nicole firmly stated.

"Cassidy was kidnapped," Rebecca hissed, afraid of what the new knowledge meant.

"But Batman didn't save Cassidy either, Nicole. Think about it, if he was out saving people, wouldn't he save the victims of a serial killer? Why hasn't he tried to stop the murders?"

"Serial killer?!"

"Well the police have been trying to do just that, haven't they Stuart? Why haven't you guys solved it yet? Maybe he's doing the same thing. And even if he isn't, he didn't have anything to do with kidnapping Cassidy," Nicole retorted. "I don't exactly recall him being in the alley."

Before Stuart could reply Rebecca held up her hand and waved it in front of Nicole's face. "Hey, remember me?"

"Sorry, Becky, what were you saying?"

"What's this about a kidnapping and, _serial killer_? I get the feeling you haven't told me the entire story yet. So, please, do continue."

"Well, I attacked her attacker but he fought me off. He threw me into the side of the dumpster and it knocked me out. And then he took Cassidy, who had apparently been drugged."

"And who is _he_?"

"Commissioner Gordon thinks that he fits the profile of the Calendar Killer."

Rebecca closed the menu, suddenly not feeling hungry anymore. "The Calendar Killer. The sicko going around posing bodies of dead girls and slashing open their throats?"

Seeing Nicole pale a little at the blunt description, Stuart decided to answer. "Yes, the same guy. But there's more."

"There always is, isn't there? Why don't you enlighten me, Officer?"

Stuart gave a pathetic attempt at a comforting smile. "We think Nicole is his next victim."

"After he kills Cassidy you mean?"

Nicole looked down at her plate, studying her half-eaten cheeseburger intently, wishing the conversation would end. She was tired of even thinking of what that maniac would do, let alone that she might be next.

"Possibly. We think that it would be safer if you stayed with friends or family for an undisclosed amount of time, until he's caught."

"No," Rebecca replied simply.

Nicole looked up at her, half expecting the answer that came from her friend. She was nothing, if not loyal. "You could get hurt Becky. It's for your own safety."

Rebecca took her hand from across the table. "Sweetie, I'm not leaving you. They're not even sure if you're going to be next."

Nicole knew that it was useless to argue with Becky once she had made up her mind. And part of herself, however small it was, didn't want to be left alone for the taking, even if it did put someone else in danger. Perhaps it was that bit of selfishness that enabled Nicole to accept Rebecca's decision at face value.

"Becky, there is something else you should know. Officer Mitchell is my, er, bodyguard of sorts."

Becky glanced sideways at the ginger topped man and began laughing. "Oh that's rich!" Seeing Nicole's incredulous gaze and Stuart glowering at her she sobered up quickly. "You mean you weren't joking? No offense, Officer Mitchell, but you don't look like much of a bodyguard. You're, well…"

Stuart cut her off abruptly. "I assure you I'm quite capable of the task. During the day, I'll escort Nicole to work and anywhere else she needs to go. Commissioner Gordon thought that she should continue with her daily routine. With more people around, the chances of her being kidnapped in broad daylight are lessened dramatically. I'll take evening watches as well. Two more officers will take the night watch outside of your apartment to make sure everything's okay. In all likelihood, if he tries anything, we'll probably catch him."

_Probably._ It was that one word that sent chills throughout Nicole's body. She didn't want to imagine what would happen if the police failed to protect her. Forcing the thought from her mind she smiled as she looked at her compatriots before changing the subject.

* * *

Nicole sat on the wooden barstool leaning against the small tile bar that separated the kitchen and living room of the small apartment, drinking a cold glass of orange juice. Ordinarily she would have watched the morning news or read the paper since she loved to keep up with current events, but on this Tuesday morning, she didn't have the will to turn on the television. She knew that if she did, it would be peppered with news regarding the Calendar Killer, and truth be told, she didn't have the heart to hear it. Instead, she stared out the living room window, watching the leaves sway gently in the morning breeze, enjoying the calmness of the early morning when there was a knock at the door that was expected. Leaving her perch, Nicole strode quickly to the door and peered through the peephole, already knowing who it was. She opened the door and stepped aside, beckoning Stuart inside.

"Good morning, how are you," Stuart questioned with a pep in his voice that had to be unnatural. At least Nicole assumed that anything awake and so happy in the morning had to be unnatural.

"I'm alright. I'm not entirely awake though. How are you?"

"I'm great. I just talked with the officers outside from the night shift. You should be happy to know they reported no suspicious activity last night."

"Well, I suppose that's good then," she said in a false sense of happiness that never quite met her eyes.

"Look, Nicole, I know you're dealing with a lot right now. But if this guy tries anything, we'll know about it. Just go about your day as normal as you can. In fact, just think of me as a friend along for the ride."

Nicole couldn't help but return the comforting smile he gave. She finally rationalized that he was right. If this guy did come after her she had her own bodyguard and police watching the apartment night and day. And if he did catch her…well she would worry about that later.

"You're right. Thanks Stu."

"Stu?"

"Well you did say we were friends."

Stuart smiled uncomfortably. He'd always hated the name Stu. "So I did. Let's just leave it at Stuart mk?"

"Sure, whatever you say Stu," Nicole replied with a dazzling white smile. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Do you have any milk," he asked, clearly ignoring the nickname.

"One glass of milk, coming right up."

Stuart noticed the rolled up paper sitting haphazardly on the small coffee table that Rebecca had brought in. "Have you read the paper this morning?"

"No," Nicole called from the kitchen as she opened a cabinet, revealing an array of cups. "You can read it if you want. I just didn't want to hear anymore about the Calendar Killer."

Stuart nodded before sitting on the couch and removing the tan rubber band from the thick paper, grey paper. Opening it up, he began reading the morning headlines.

"Anything interesting," she asked as she poured a clear glass adorned with pink and green polka dots full of white liquid.

Stuart looked up. "The same old stuff as always. It seems Gotham still has its fair share of problems. But I do have a question."

"Oh?"

"What's the story with you and Bruce Wayne?"

"He's my boss," she replied while putting the jug of milk back into the refrigerator.

"So you aren't seeing him?"

Nicole chuckled as she walked barefoot across the living room floor with the glass of milk in hand. "No. He's just my boss and sometimes friend. Why the sudden interest Stu?"

"Sometimes friend," he questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. When he's not being weird and acting like he does in the tabloids."

"Fascinating," Stu deadpanned.

"Are you intentionally acting like Spock from _Star Trek_?"

"Indeed. It's my favorite show."

Nicole laughed and handed him the glass of milk. "Well you're doing a wonderful job. Coincidentally, its one of mine too."

Stuart took the glass of milk and raised it in thanks. "You don't say? So you're absolutely certain nothing is going on with you and Wayne?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"I think that you should read this," Stuart said as he held up the front page of the paper for her to read.

Nicole gasped.

* * *

Alfred was busy making breakfast in the kitchen, as he did every morning. He half-heartedly put the various ingredients of Bruce's monstrous concoction into the blender and cringed, wondering how any sane person could ever drink the putrid smelling potion. But then again, he often wondered about Bruce Wayne's sanity in general, especially since he had donned the mask of the Batman.

His worries were not unfounded. He had seen lesser men encounter the same burdens that Bruce bore and had seen their souls shattered into a million pieces. Bruce had lost nearly everyone that he had ever loved, himself one of the few exceptions. And if that weren't enough to drive a man toward insanity, add the constant lack of sleep and guilt to the mixture and a soul could be well on its way. In fact, he had briefly thought Bruce had gone insane those few short years ago when he'd told Alfred of his plan to become Batman.

Alfred sat the vile green potion on wooden tray before adorning it with toast and grapefruit. Unrolling the _Gotham Daily_, he wasn't surprised the see the headline exclaiming that Bruce Wayne had a new lover—that was a weekly staple in their lives. After examining the photo, however, his interest was perked. The photo itself was rather common place; an amusement park photo that could have belonged to anyone in America. Only the faces didn't belong to just anyone. Staring at the photo, he examined Bruce first.

As a boy, he had taken his young charge to Amusement Mile and knew of his love of roller coasters, well his love of anything fast and dangerous really. In fact, he often rolled his eyes at some of the things Batman did (he'd listen to the stories of his first few jumps from atop massive skyscrapers while testing his cape and had immediately felt his heart stop) and knew that it was rooted in Bruce's nature to pursue such activities, with or without a costume. So the fact that Bruce was on a roller coaster wasn't surprising in the slightest. His face, however, bore a slightly different expression than one you would find of a passenger on an extreme ride.

No doubt many would view the cool and collected face of Bruce Wayne as he hurtled down the track of Gotham's highest rollercoaster as one of intense shock. And they would be wrong. Knowing his master well, he was able to view the intensity of one that radiated contentment. He had no doubt that Bruce was having a great time and was having a wonderful time as he held hands with the young woman next to him. Moreover, he recognized that young woman as Bruce's assistant, who at that moment in time was quite simply terrified and holding on for dear life.

While that picture might have been incriminating enough by itself, the one beside it, showing two young ladies and his charge eating carnival food and smiling seemed to seal the deal and spoke volumes to the reader, as if saying "if he wasn't dating his assistant, why would he sit with such lowly people?"

Shaking his head, Alfred laid the paper on the tray and journeyed up the newly built staircase to bring his charge breakfast. Alfred hoped that this article didn't end the budding friendship. It was his intuition that told him that if Bruce let her, this young woman could be his redemption. And for the sake of Bruce Wayne's sanity, he prayed that his young charge would find redemption from the ghosts that haunted him.

Opening the door slowly, Alfred scurried into the room, setting the tray on a nearby table. Without hesitation, he opened the blinds, letting the bright sunlight into the room, causing his master to wince as the harsh light assaulted his closed eyes.

"Bats are still nocturnal," Bruce said with light humor, debating whether or not to dive back into the pillows as he slowly rose to a sitting position.

"And a playboy CEO with a business to run is not, Master Wayne."

"You enjoy reminding me don't you?"

"Of course, sir. If I may, you might want to drink that vile poison and eat your breakfast, as the morning seems to be escaping you rather quickly."

Bruce smirked at the description of his shake until he began drinking it. At least Alfred hadn't experimented with it this morning, he thought as he chugged the shake.

"Sir. Might I warn you, that there is a rather interesting article on the front page of the _Daily_."

Giving Alfred a sideways glance, Bruce unfolded the paper and sighed as he saw the picture. "One of the photo booth attendants must have sold a copy to the _Daily_."

"Am I to assume that Miss Miller won't be pleased by this new development?"

"I highly doubt it."

"I see. As it is, sir, might I suggest you go easy on the young lady today, especially considering the unfortunate circumstances that she now finds herself in?"

Bruce nodded in agreement. "I will. Thank you, Alfred."

"Of course, sir. Might I also suggest that you get a move on? Lucius won't be happy if you miss your meeting ," Alfred stated with a knowing glance before dismissing himself, leaving Bruce Wayne to confront the morning alone.

* * *

From the moment she entered Wayne Tower, she knew that Tuesday was not going to be a pleasant day. One scathing look from Wanda, the plump brunette from behind the front desk, told her that people had indeed recognized her from the photos in _Gotham Daily_. Moreover, even if they didn't recognize, the author had done such a wonderful job of spilling her identity to the public that her fellow employees would have no trouble identifying her.

Walking into the elevator, with Stuart, dressed in street attire, at her heels, she was thankful that the lobby was experiencing a lull in the morning rush, enabling her to share the elevator with just two other men aside from Stuart. As the doors closed, she was thankful that the men largely ignored her. Briefly stopping at the 15th floor, both employees exited through the cool silver doors heading to various cubicles, leaving Stuart and Nicole alone.

"Since you're my bodyguard, you have to protect me from harm right?"

"Of course. The Calendar Killer will have a hard time of it if he tries to take you from Wayne Tower with so many people around," Stuart reminded.

"He may not have a victim to take once Bruce Wayne's fan club rips me from limb to limb. Didn't you see Wanda?"

"Indeed I did. She looked as if she personally wanted to tear your face off," Stuart replied bluntly.

"Thanks Stu. That made it so much better."

"You did ask, you know."

Shaking her head with a smirk, Nicole found that she didn't have a reply for him and waited for the doors to reveal the executive lobby, plushly decorated in modern chic. Nicole emerged, walking briskly to her desk as she always did in the mornings. She placed her green messenger bag against the wall so that it wasn't in the way of the rolling leather desk chair. Turning to the organized desk, Nicole pushed the power button on the new black Dell computer and waited patiently for the welcome screen to load as she sat in her office chair, thankful that it was comfortable.

Stuart casually walked around the floor, peering in darkened office windows, as it was still too early for most executives to drag themselves into work. Once his curiosity was satisfied and he was sure there wasn't anyone around that wasn't supposed to be there, he returned to Nicole's side, pulling over a chair from the waiting area. He was vaguely aware that the decorations were not unlike what you would find in an upscale doctor's office, which wasn't very surprising considering Wayne Enterprises seemed to spare little expense when it came to keeping their customers happy. He was, however, thankful that the chairs weren't uncomfortable. He watched Nicole as the light blue welcome screen with the Wayne Enterprises insignia popped up and she quickly entered her password, her fingers flying over the correct keys with a speed that surprised him.

"Have you always worked in an office," Stuart asked.

"Hm?"

"It seems like you're good at this type of thing. You're a fast typist."

"Oh. No, I've had a few odd jobs, but office work isn't something I've really wanted to do. I was always tech savvy though and used some sort of electronic device. I suppose my typing skills developed over time," she answered as she began to navigate the mouse throughout the home screen, eventually settling the arrow over an e-mail icon before clicking it.

"If you never wanted to work in an office, why did you accept a business internship?"

"Well, I had an internship at Wayne Aerospace but there was a mistake; they accepted two people for only one available internship. So, they created a new one since the former assistant would be on maternity leave for a while and gave it to me."

"So you're interested in aviation then?"

"I am. It's a passion of mine. In fact, I have a lesson this Friday with an aerobatic instructor that I suppose you'll be accompanying me on. That is, if I'm still allowed to go."

Stuart smiled. "I think I can arrange that, since I'm a fellow pilot."

Nicole returned the smile, thinking that if she had to be stuck with a bodyguard at least he was an interesting one.

"Who's that," Stuart asked, motioning the tall feminine figure, stepping off the elevator and staring at Nicole as if she were prey.

"That's Stephanie, Mr. Sanders' secretary," Nicole said in a low voice that only the two could hear.

"She's burning a hole through your head."

"Yeah, she's leader of Bruce Wayne's fan club."

"She looks like a Barbie Doll," Stuart remarked sardonically as he stared at the approaching blonde with candy pink lips to match her pink skirt and jacket set, which of course, was adorned with stiletto heels. He was half surprised her briefcase wasn't pink as well, but brown leather instead.

Nicole suppressed her laughter and smiled at Stephanie.

"Why, Nicole, dear, what have you been keeping from me," Stephanie asked, plastering a smile that never met her eyes.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Surely you've read this morning's paper, dear."

"Oh. That."

"Why didn't you tell us that you've been sleeping with Bruce Wayne," Stephanie bluntly said with a trace of malice in her sweet toned voice.

"Er, because I'm not?"

"I see. I suppose the papers have it wrong then?"

"Pretty much."

"So, then there would be no reason why you were caught holding hands I suppose," Stephanie innocently insinuated.

Nicole wanted to strangle the secretary but before she could retort Stephanie smiled and replied, "Have a good day Nikki," and was off, strutting toward Mr. Sanders' office.

Stuart stared after her until she rounded the corner. "Well, I see what you meant by being ripped apart. I think she just verbally castrated you."

Nicole mimicked Stuart and raised an eyebrow.

"You know, if you had balls."

"I see. Oh, she'll be back to finish the job, don't worry. She's the queen of office gossip and is quite likely putting some spin of her own on the story."

"Why is she carrying a briefcase? It seems kind of pointless."

"She's office Barbie. She comes with accessories to make her feel important, the personality of a pit viper, and she's equipped with the power of flirtation to seduce executives into her bed. Apparently, she hasn't succeeded with Bruce Wayne. I'm not sure whether I should commend him for resisting her or not."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Stuart replied scathingly.

"Of what."

"That Wayne hasn't done the nasty with her, he sleeps with everything else."

"Okay. Where did that come from?"

"Think about it Nicole, he's Bruce Wayne and he's always in the papers for that sort of thing. He's got the moral compass of a troll."

"Weren't you the one telling me I shouldn't always believe rumors, Stu?"

Stuart sighed. "That was about a murderer parading around as a giant bat. This is Bruce Wayne, the guy that burnt down his own family home when he was drunk."

"By that logic, it would seem that the papers would be right about Bruce and I," Nicole spat.

"Nicole, that's not what I meant. Think about it how he acts, his playboy antics, the type of people that he dates. I have no respect for people without morals."

Nicole scrunched up her nose, not quite understanding her need to defend Bruce when she had once thought similar things of him. "Maybe he really isn't what he seems. Why do you care, anyway?"

"Because you were just linked to him in an immoral way. Because he didn't seem to give a rat's ass about you yesterday when we told you both that you were a target. He wasn't even affected by that. And he's not a moral guy. If there was any truth to what that article said, then you don't need to be dragged down by someone like that. You seem like a great girl and to be honest, when this whole thing is over, I've been thinking of asking you out," he added thoughtfully.

"You've known me for three days."

Stuart laughed. "That's your concern? Can you honestly say you haven't felt a connection with me in these three days?"

"Aren't you supposed to be protecting me, not asking me on a date? Isn't that some sort of violation of ethics?"

"I'm being honest, and sincere with you. And I won't bring it up again while I'm here in an official capacity. But know that I will protect you, no matter what."

Nicole didn't know whether to be touched by his thoughtfulness or to bolt for the door at his sobered intensity. She had felt a connection to Stuart but hadn't given much thought to it. She had assumed it was just a budding friendship.

"Good morning," a familiar voice chimed, causing her to jump slightly. She had neither seen nor heard him approaching.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. You're here early," Nicole responded, taking in the freshly groomed appearance of the man dressed in a fine Armani suit. She had never seen him anything but the finest tailored business suits and briefly wondered if he owned anything else.

Bruce gave her a grin. "Well, I'm told it's my company. You're here rather earlier than usual as well"

"I needed to finish up some of the notes for today's meeting. I suppose they would appreciate having them during the actual meeting."

Bruce chuckled lightly. "I never really know what's going on in those things anyway. Your notes are always appreciated by me."

Nicole rolled her eyes at his blatant flirting.

"Oh, Officer Mitchell! I didn't notice you sitting in the corner. I was beginning to think you'd left Miss Miller alone," Bruce commented, with a lightness that he never felt. Of course, he had noticed Stuart all along, but after overhearing their conversation, hadn't felt like addressing the younger man.

"Mr. Wayne," Stuart nodded politely.

"Mr. Wayne," Nicole started. She was unsure if she should broach the subject of this morning's article. What would she say? That she was sorry there was a nasty rumor going around about the two of them sleeping together?

"Yes?"

Deciding that he most likely hadn't read the paper this morning since he hadn't mentioned it, she opted for safer ground. "Mr. Wayne, is there anything I can get for you this morning?"

"No…thank you. I'll be in my office until the meeting with Mr. Fox," he added, sensing that her statement had not been her first choice.

Nicole nodded and watched as Bruce walked nonchalantly toward his office. Once he entered and closed the door, she turned to Stuart.

"Well, Nicole, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

She didn't say anything. Instead she left Stuart in silence, her brain full of confusion as her thoughts threatened to overcome her. She was being hunted by a murderer which terrified her. Stuart was not only a somewhat socially awkward bodyguard, but one that was developing feelings for her. She had felt a connection to the officer, but was unable to decipher just what it was. And she knew that she was starting to like Bruce despite her decision not to do so. It was an involuntary reaction to the brief moments she had seen his true face. She would not have defended him so diligently if she hadn't changed her mind about him. Deep down, she thought he was a great person, even though she still didn't know what to make of his playboy persona.

Her head was full of confusion, but one thing was clear. She needed to complete these notes for the meeting at noon and she wasn't getting anything done just sitting here, examining her feelings for the two very different men in her proximity. With renewed vigor, she dove into writing the notes, pushing everything from her mind, and leaving her safety to Stuart's own devices.

* * *

Bruce Wayne silently closed the door to his office, thankful the shades were still drawn, giving him some semblance of privacy. He'd overheard the conversation between his assistant and her would-be protector. It didn't bother him that Stuart heartily disliked him; many people continuously judged him based on his playboy persona. It bothered him that Stuart all but asked his assistant out on a date; something he'd briefly thought about in his most private moments before pushing it to the back of his mind. It bothered him that she had defended what little of his true character that she had seen. Moreover, it bothered him that he didn't want to lie to her.

It had started from the first day that he'd met her. She wasn't like many of the other assistants that he'd had or met throughout his tenure at the corporate headquarters. She wasn't throwing herself at him. In fact, she didn't seem to care about him at all, which he found surprisingly refreshing. At first he'd began teasing and flirting with her, as part of the act. Instead of falling at his feet she had put him in his place. Multiple times, in fact. But despite her sarcasm and complete naivety, there was a softness and wisdom about her. He'd observed her, often, when she wasn't looking. She was the most professional assistant that he'd had and often went above her own duties, helping others around her. And somewhere along the line, the banter had turned personal for him.

The day he had discovered her at the airport, it was if he had seen her for the first time. She was wide-eyed and full of wonder, the ruddiness of her cheeks and simple attire only enhancing her attractiveness. He'd always known that she was smart but was surprised by her wide array of knowledge that many of the girls that he'd dated lacked. There was a depth to her that he couldn't quite explain. Quite honestly, he reminded her of Rachel as a teenager. And maybe that was what initially attracted him to her.

He'd seen her outside of work only twice since then, and she had proven that she was Nicole, not Rachel. And somewhere in between playing the playboy and showing his true persona, he'd found that Alfred's words were true—he'd begun having fun by accident. In fact, he felt more alive around Nicole than he had felt since Rachel's untimely demise. He wasn't so sure he wanted to let that go just yet. And maybe that was what was really bothering him.

Yawning from lack of sleep, he opened the blinds that covered the window protecting him from the outside world, and let the morning sunlight stream in to brighten the room. He settled quietly at his desk, opening the combination lock on his expensive briefcase before removing his documents.

The first folder contained background checks of all of the men that Gordon had assigned to watch over Nicole. Gordon may have trusted all of his men but he had also trusted Wuertz and Ramirez. He felt it prudent to run his own background check on the men. The last thing they needed was for one of the officers to be bribed by the Calendar Killer for access. After all, in a city where so many could be bribed, he wasn't taking any chances. As his fingers grazed a document jutting out of the thick folder, he opened it up, to put it back in its place only to see the face of the young man sitting in the executive lobby.

Stuart Mitchell was an all around great guy from what he could tell. He'd graduated high school a year early with many awards and had attended Gotham University to major in engineering of all things. He'd received his Bachelor of Science degree and immediately joined the police force. According to the psych profile, it had something to do with the violent death of a friend. Nothing really stuck out of his profile; he'd been an Eagle Scout, on the cross country team throughout high school, an expert marksman on the rifle team in college, was a dedicated pilot himself, and was deeply religious and moral. Still, something about him grated on Bruce's nerves that he couldn't identify.

He slid the paper back into its proper place and continued on with his search until he came to the proper folder. Sliding it out, he opened it to reveal a map of the Narrows, indicating the areas in which the killer may have been trolling the streets. He had made a copy to give to Gordon as well as one to give to Lucius Fox at their meeting later. With witnesses to place the killer in the Narrows and knowledge that one of the victims had washed ashore downriver, there was an indication that the killer could be using an abandoned structure as his hideout. With Gordon and Fox both searching abandoned properties for him to investigate, they might find the serial killer faster.

Closing the folder and laying it on his desk, Bruce checked his watch. He still had time before his meeting with Lucius. Pulling out a different folder from his briefcase, he decided that it was time to look over information about the merger meeting that was coming up soon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my plot and original characters

**AN:** I hadn't intended for it to take this long for an update, but unfortunately I've had a rough time. Thank you to all of your favorites, alerts, and reviews. They mean the world to me

* * *

"_And all these little things in life they all create this haze  
There's too many things to get done, and I'm running out of days"_

_-Running out of Days_ - 3 Doors Down

* * *

"It didn't come with racing stripes," Bruce asked with a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"No, but I assure you, it has all the standard features," Lucius commented, as if he were selling Bruce a brand new Lamborghini. "I suppose you'll want to take a look at it?"

"Of course, isn't that always customary when acquiring a new vehicle?"

"Indeed it is," Lucius replied as the elevator doors opened, revealing the darkened labyrinth of applied sciences. "After you, Mr. Wayne. I hope you remember the rules."

Bruce held up his hands in defense as he smirked. "Of course. I'm not to touch anything unless you approve first." Apparently Lucius hadn't forgotten the prior incident when he'd almost blown a hole through the basement wall of Wayne Tower. Bruce had to admit that Lucius was probably right at the time; he probably shouldn't have tested the switch to see what it did without asking first. Fortunately the new canon for the Batpod had misfired, which wasn't surprising since it was still being developed. But if it hadn't, there would have been a lot of explaining to do.

Lucius flicked a nearby switch and suddenly the entire basement was filled with artificial illumination. Rows of shelves and drawers stood throughout applied sciences, most of them locked with special access codes to keep prying eyes away. They silently walked through the long concrete room before taking a left turn, only to be met by a heavy steel door with a biometric scanner that only Bruce and Lucius had clearance for. After the machine performed the required retinal scan, the door slid open, revealing the sterile space beyond—and the new, improved Tumbler.

"It has all the standard features, Mr. Wayne," Lucius stated as Bruce slowly walked around the car, as if he were a lion circling his prey. "GPS, satellite radio, hands free communication, and black leather interior."

"And any, uh, special packaging?"

"Well it _is_ your car."

Bruce grinned.

"It has the same stuff the old one had in addition to the standard features, but with a few upgrades."

"Such as?"

"There's more armor in the front to protect you while you're in the prone position. The cameras are in better positions, eliminating those pesky blind spots. The stealth technology has been upgraded and the engine runs quieter in stealth mode."

Bruce smiled. "I think I'll take it then."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Lucius stated. Reaching into his pocket, he removed a small remote control. "With this remote you can control the entire car. It's a lot less bulkier than the one we previously developed and should fit very nicely into your improved tool belt, which has been reinforced with electric current. That should take care of anyone trying to take what's yours. And I also took the liberty of doing one more thing. Call it a perk for shopping with us today."

"And what would that be, Mr. Fox," Bruce asked in anticipation. He always loved getting new gadgets.

Lucius walked over to a small drawer and withdrew a key from his pocket. He unlocked the drawer and slid it open before he took out a grappling gun.

"You shouldn't have. I already own one of those you know."

Lucius looked at Bruce over his glasses. "Well if you don't want it, Mr. Wayne…"

Bruce eyed the contraption with intrigue. "I never said I didn't want it."

Lucius gave him a toothy smile. "This gun, Mr. Wayne, is very much like the one you already own with one exception."

"And that is?"

"Your current grapple gun supports 300 pounds. You're current body weight with the armor is well over 200 pounds. It seems that you've run into a few situations in which you've had to help others using your gun, which puts the filament in danger of breaking. We're lucky it hasn't done so already. I've upgraded the gun and played around with the design a bit. This one," Lucius stated, holding up the gun, "will support up to 600 pounds easily."

"And over 600 pounds?"

"Well, Mr. Wayne, if I were you, I wouldn't use it in excess of 600 pounds very often."

Bruce nodded and understood. With this new gun, he could easily support other weights as well as his own without the constant worry of the monofilament fiber breaking at an inopportune moment.

"Is that all you have for me?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes, I suppose that's it."

Bruce removed the brown file from the briefcase he'd brought down with him. "Could you find a list of abandoned properties in this section of town, for me? I would have Alfred do it but he's helping cross check the backgrounds of the victims to see if they have anything in common."

Lucius Fox took the envelope and looked through the contents. "Sure thing, Mr. Wayne. I'll let you know when I have the results. I hate to cut our time short today, but I have an appointment in a few minutes."

Bruce nodded and held out his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Fox, as always you've done an excellent job."

Lucius smiled at the younger man, accepting the gesture and shaking hands. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne," he said before relinquishing his grip. "Remember to turn the lights out before you leave," he said as he walked toward the elevators.

Bruce chuckled and stared once more at the Tumbler, appreciative to have it again. He left soon after, locking everything up behind him and bathing the room once more in darkness.

* * *

She was sitting at her desk, one leg tucked beneath her, punching numbers into a calculator as she blew a loose strand of hair out of her eyes that always seemed to slip out of her ponytail. Nicole was taking an online math course calculus course to get a jump on the fall semester and she was determined to finish her set of homework problems ahead of the Friday deadline, if only to occupy her mind. She copied the answer from the calculator screen carefully into her black spiral bound notebook, making sure she had written the right answer. Math had never been one of her favorite subjects but it was one that was necessary for the degree she was seeking. It wasn't as if she was horrible of the subject; in fact she made decent enough grades. It just didn't interest her as much as other things.

She laid her pencil down on the notebook and uncurled her leg as she stretched her entire body to keep from falling asleep. Her muscles were aching from the past few days of swimming and other various exercises that she had completed while at the gym. She'd really pushed herself since Monday and she went at it harder than she ever had before. It gave her the solitude and stress relief that she desired, but now she was paying the price of the extra exertion with a soreness that never seemed to leave.

She sat still for a minute, starting at the sparsely decorated walls that were the color of malted milk. At least, that's the color that the paint card had called them. To Nicole, they just seemed off-white. She was contemplating going down stairs for a snack when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her body became rigid. She had the feeling that she was being watched. To make matters worse, she was alone in the apartment. Rebecca was required to stay late as a lab assistant as she had every other Wednesday evening of the year.

She rose from her chair and opened her bedroom door. Light from her room spilled onto the landing, giving her enough illumination to see that Rebecca's door was still shut and landing area was empty, just as she'd left it. Peering down the stairs into the darkness of the first floor, she listened but heard only her own breathing in the silence. But still, the feeling lingered.

"Becky," she called; her voice cutting through the quiet and echoing down the stairwell.

There was neither answer from anything nor any sound of movement.

She closed her bedroom door and locked the handle as a precaution. Slowly she approached the balcony door, as if something would pop out at her. It didn't. She stared out into the dimly lit parking lot, seeing nothing but the few rows of cars, most of which she recognized. The unmarked car was still in its spot outside with two patrolmen inside, though she couldn't see them. She knew they were there and it gave her some measure of relief. She looked into the darkness that lay beyond the safety of the parking lot for a few minutes, halfway daring some threat to emerge. Her spell was broken when she shivered despite the heat of the room. What was that that her mother always said about random chills? Oh yeah, that they were caused by someone walking over your future grave site.

Suddenly she felt incredibly isolated and wished Rebecca was there to keep her company. The quiet was eating away at her with its oppressive heaviness, and she felt that if she didn't do something to break it, the stillness alone would choke her lifeless.

She grabbed the remote control to her stereo system and pressed the power button. Rock music blared from the speakers, overruling the silence, and she turned the volume down a few levels so that she wouldn't disturb her neighbors. She returned to her desk chair and sat for a moment, staring at her calculus textbook without really seeing it. She moved to pick up her pencil when she knocked it to the ground by accident. She hung her head down in irritated defeat before sighing. _Get a grip, Nikki, nothing's going to happen to you_, she admonished.

Taking a deep breath, she decided that a hot shower might ease her stress. She bent and picked up her pencil before placing it on the desk and standing. She tiredly walked to her chest of drawers and opened a wooden drawer, removing a brown tank top and pink and brown plaid pajama bottoms, gathering the garments with her right arm. She closed the heavy drawer with more effort than was needed before she walked across the room to the bathroom door. Inside, she flicked on the switch, and yellow light flooded the room. She pulled back the shower curtain and turned the water on, setting it for as hot as she could stand. She closed the door and locked it before turning to the mirror. The past few nights she'd gotten little sleep and she was starting to see the results appear in her face. She looked tired and more pallid than normal, which was saying something since she was a naturally pale person. She turned her attention to her shower, removing her gym clothes and throwing them in the nearby hamper. She would have to remember that she needed to wash clothes soon since the hamper was almost full.

She was thankful she'd already set out a black towel when she'd come home, intending to get a shower after she quickly did her math assignment. Only her math assignment had given her a rather difficult time, delaying her process. But nevertheless, she was here now. She drew back the curtain and stepped inside, flinching as the steaming water attacked her body. She threw herself into the stream, slowly acclimating herself to the hot water and stood with her eyes closed, relishing the moment. She went through the motions of bathing, only able to hear the running of the shower and bass of the stereo from the next room.

She wasn't sure how long she'd spent in the shower but the water was still hot as she shut it off. She opened the curtain, letting steam billow into the room as she deeply inhaled the cooler air before grabbing the nearby towel and drying herself off. She dressed and moved to the bathroom counter to brush out her wet hair. She was moving the pink brush through her dark locks when she caught her reflection again and wave of guilt swept over her.

The guilt flowed in waves and had ever since she'd woken that morning in the alley. She didn't know if Cassidy was still alive or not. The thought of her being held captive somewhere, or worse, on her deathbed was a hard pill for her to swallow. The rational side of her knew that there was nothing more that she could have done. She was at a disadvantage to Cassidy's captor and had done everything she could have. But part of her focused on the if-onlys. _If only I'd screamed for help…If only I had tackled him harder…If only I hadn't let myself be cornered…_

She shook the thoughts from her head before reminding herself that she wasn't at fault for what happened to Cassidy. _Bad things happen in this city all the time. There was nothing else I could have done. All I can do now is to help the police so that they can catch him. But what if they don't catch him? Is he really coming after me? What if…_

She slammed the brush down in frustration. It seemed as if her mind was running in circles and this thought process would never end. Picking up the blue hair tie she had removed from her hair prior to her shower, she hastily put her wet hair into a messy bun. She couldn't wait to escape the humid room.

She opened the door and quickly exited the bathroom. She sat on the edge of her bed, trying to distract herself. She began half-heartedly singing along to a rock ballad; one where the lead singer was expressing how much he loved his soul mate. She wanted that kind of love one day and she frowned slightly thinking of how things were going in her life. She wasn't even sure if she would live past Independence Day, much less ever go on another date or make it through school in the fall.

Turning down a different avenue of thought, she thought of Stuart. He was a sweet guy and was obviously interested in her. He'd been a godsend the past few days. Anytime she began thinking of her guilt or what might happen, she was pulled out of it by one of his corny jokes. He took his job of protecting her seriously and seemed to safeguard her sanity as well. He often complimented her and subtly flirted with her during her downtime at work. When she was busy, he didn't distract her. And he rarely left her side. She found his geeky personality charming and she often found herself in some intellectual debate with him. Moreover, she felt as if she'd known him forever and not just a few days. It was almost like he fit in her life somehow. And that was the problem. She wasn't sure where exactly he fit.

_He's so unlike Bruce_. That thought startled Nicole. Lately, it seemed she was defending the billionaire from Stuart's blatant attacks but she wasn't exactly sure what it was that compelled her to do so. She wasn't even sure how she felt about the man herself.

Her first meeting with Bruce Wayne was memorable. Though not a native Gothamite, Nicole had seen his face plastered on magazines and newspapers, especially after he'd returned to Gotham after being declared legally dead. And of the articles she'd browsed, she'd taken his antics with a grain of salt. After all, the media needed a way to sell their stories. So when she was told that Bruce Wayne would be present at her interview, she hadn't thought much of it; after all it was a position as his assistant she would be accepting.

She'd anxiously waited in the lobby prior to the meeting, wanting to make a good impression by being early. And she had waited. Thirty minutes after the interview was supposed to begin, she sat alone in the lobby, wondering what was going on. Finally, Mr. Fox had collected her, apologizing profusely for the playboy's absence, and showed her to the conference room where he would conduct her interview.

Fox was going over her educational background when Bruce Wayne sauntered into room, dressed in some designer suit and looking impeccably groomed. After he'd introduced himself, he'd given the explanation that he'd been out too late the night before, assumingly having a good time.

For the rest of the interview, he'd flirted his way through and hadn't seemed the least bit interested in what was going on, leaving the bulk of the questioning to Mr. Fox. It irritated Nicole that he didn't seem to take her time seriously but she let it pass—she really needed the job and the course credit.

Within a week she was employed as his assistant. On the first day of employment he hadn't even shown up to work. The second day he was exceedingly late. And when he was present, he flirted and seemed to have the intelligence of a slab of granite. He couldn't even pick out simple birthday presents for his so-called friends. It made her wonder how a man like that could even run his own company.

After the first two weeks, she'd come to expect his ego and flirting and took it for granted. Often times she bantered back when she wasn't exceedingly busy running errands for the man. And when he wasn't flirting at anything in a skirt, he was boasting about some achievement of his. And that's why when she met him at the airport; she was shocked at his behavior. He didn't seem like airhead he always was nor did he flirt. In fact, he seemed almost normal.

And with each meeting after that, he seemed more candid. She still didn't trust him as far as she could throw him but she was slowly warming up to him if the tightness in her stomach was any indication.

She laughed suddenly at the absurdity of wondering about her feelings for two very different men while a madman was after her.

There was a knock at her bedroom door that startled her so much that she almost fell off the bed.

"Nikki?"

Nicole was relieved to hear Rebecca's voice as she pressed a hand to her chest to steady her heartbeat. She stood from the bed and walked to the door to unlock the brass handle. When she opened the door, Rebecca stood there staring at her with concern written all over her face.

"Nikki, are you all right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well, I couldn't tell if you were laughing or crying over the music."

"Oh, I was laughing at the absurdity of the situation."

Rebecca stared at her puzzled. "Absurdity?"

"Absurdity," Nicole confirmed with a smirk.

"Care to elaborate?"

Nicole pondered for a moment, wondering if she should tell her friend about her thoughts. If anything, talking to Rebecca might do some good. "You know what, why don't you come in and I'll tell you all about it."

"Sure. Hold on! I have something for you," Rebecca exclaimed as she disappeared into her room, leaving Nicole standing in her doorway, puzzled.

When Rebecca emerged, she was carrying two drinks in plain white Styrofoam cups. She handed Nicole the heavier container along with a straw.

"What's this?"

"Taste it and see!"

Nicole stared at the cup warily.

"Nikki, it's not poisonous, I promise."

Nicole took a sip of the drink after inserting the clear plastic straw into the opaque lid.

"Mmm. You brought me a chocolate fudge milkshake from the diner!"

"Surprise! I thought a tasty treat would cheer you up," Rebecca said proudly as she sank onto Nicole's bed, drinking her own milkshake.

"How was lab?"

"Ugh, they don't pay me enough. I hate supervising chemistry lab. Can you believe I had to use the fire extinguisher tonight?"

"Uh oh. What happened?"

"One of the students knocked his notebook too close to the Bunsen burner without paying attention because he was trying to get laid. And the whole thing goes up in flames! He started smacking the fire with the first thing he got his hands on, which of course, was his lab partner's notebook. I had to spray it before it set the sprinklers off. I was so pissed," Rebecca recalled tartly.

Nicole laughed.

"It wasn't funny Nikki! He could've caught the chemicals on fire and blown up the building!"

Nicole sobered slightly. "Oh come on Becky, you have to admit if it would've happened to me, you'd be laughing your ass off."

"Of course I would."

"See?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay. So, what's up?"

Nicole paused and told Rebecca about Stuart's earlier admission.

Rebecca was quiet for a minute. "So the ginger bodyguard has the hots for you?"

"Basically, yeah."

"He imitated Chewbacca the other afternoon," Rebecca recalled as she cringed. She was not a science fiction fan in the slightest.

"Yes. He did."

"And you're considering dating him?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you like him?"

"He's…nice. I feel a connection."

"Hm."

"What's the 'hm' about?"

Rebecca's eyes glinted in merriment. "Well…I'm just wondering what happened to Bruce."

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring him up."

"What? It's obvious to everyone in a hundred foot radius you like the guy. Even the headlines picked that up!"

"Ugh the headlines," Nicole cried and she fell backwards with a pillow over her face.

"Uh oh, that doesn't sound good. What happened?"

"I think every woman in Wayne Tower hates me right now. At least all the executive secretaries do. They're all so catty."

"That's because they're all so insanely jealous. And you've never been one to care what others think. Why start now?"

"I don't care what they think. It's just an inconvenience trying to interact with them."

"What did Bruce say about it?"

Nicole uncovered her face and looked at her darkly.

"Wait, he hasn't said anything about it?"

"No."

"Well, maybe he just doesn't read papers."

"Maybe."

"Do you want him to say anything about to you?"

Nicole thought for a moment. "I don't know. I just figured he'd say something about it in general. But he hasn't said a peep. I thought he'd at least joke or flirt like normal but…"

"But?"

"It's like he's been distant. He's barely said anything to me this week. None of the usual jokes or flirtation. He hasn't even given me much to do. It's like he's avoiding me."

Rebecca remained quiet for a moment. "Maybe he's trying to make things easier on you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…he does know about what's going on. Or maybe he's trying to be a gentleman. Or maybe he's just really busy. He runs a business. But one thing is for certain," Rebecca stated, a gleam in her eye.

"What's that?"

"You wouldn't be irritated about it if you didn't like him at least a little bit," she said as she smirked.

Nicole knew she was right. Guessing about her own feelings to herself in her mind was one thing. But hearing someone else confirm her inner feelings seemed to finalize them in some way.

"Am I right?"

Nicole sighed begrudgingly.

Rebecca smirked. "So, what are you going to do about your posse of men?"

Nicole laughed at the phrasing. She wasn't sure what she was going to do about her feelings or if anything would even come of them. Right now, she wasn't even sure if she was going to live to see next week. Pushing those thoughts out of her mind and thinking positively, she promised herself that she would reexamine her feelings later, after the Calendar killer was caught.

* * *

He watched her hug herself as she stood unsurely in the balcony doorway, her posture full of fear, staring straight through the leaves into his hiding place. She bit her lip in thought and he briefly wondered if she could see him in the darkness. He knew that she was on edge; he'd seen her checking the landing and locking the door behind her. And while his instinct was to go to her, to comfort her, Batman also knew that there was no intruder in her home. If there had been, he would of heard the noise through his hearing devices.

She moved away, and he released a tense breath he never realized he'd been holding. She must have turned on a radio since he suddenly heard music, he thought maybe it was the Eagles, but he wasn't sure. He watched as she grabbed clothes from the bottom of her chest of drawers and briskly walked into another room, shutting the white door behind her. A few seconds later he heard singing in an off key voice and smirked to himself. Apparently she was a fan of singing in the shower.

Every night this week, Batman had made his way to his tree top perch to watch over Nicole after searching the warehouses in the Narrows. Typically he found her fitfully slumbering and sprawled out in her small full sized bed with the covers drawn to her chin. But tonight had been different since he'd arrived earlier than normal to find her awake and frustrated enough over her work to make her grumble audibly, causing him to grin at her reactions.

Near sunset, Batman had crept through the Narrows to the old Lanford warehouse, one of the many abandoned storage facilities on the list Lucius had so graciously provided. Once inside the barren facility, he'd covered every inch of the place before finding a new lock on an old office door. Once inside, he'd used his mini alt light source to discover past evidence of blood—lots of it from the look of the spatter patterns. He'd photographed the evidence and gathered what trace he could for Gordon. With a little luck, they might find additional evidence to the identity of their murderer. But at least now they had a location where the prior murders had taken place.

A few minutes after Nicole had plopped onto her bed, he heard footsteps on the staircase. He was about to move closer when he recognized the voice as Rebecca's. Watching as Nicole opened the door, he wasn't surprised to see the perky brunette hand Nicole a drink and fall to the bed herself. He was about to leave, knowing Nicole was in good hands, when he caught a wisp of their conversation.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop—well maybe he did—but he didn't plan to. Alfred said he'd always been much too curious for his own good, as evidenced by his fall down the well as a child. Batman knew it shouldn't bother him but his jaw automatically tightened when she mentioned Stuart and their prior conversation. Something about the young officer naturally pissed him off, but it he normally kept his feelings into check. He was surprised, however, by the conversation about him. Was Nicole admitting she felt something for him? He felt a childish elation that he knew he should suppress but for some reason, he couldn't quite squash the feeling. He didn't realize she'd taken his actions as ones of cold indifference. In truth, he just figured she didn't need to deal with any added pressure at the moment.

As the two women continued chatting, their conversation turned to Rebecca's day and he knew that it was time to abandon his post. He had to get this evidence to Gordon if there was any chance of finding the killer anytime soon. But as he jumped in the new and improved Tumbler a few blocks away, he was in a slightly better mood than when we donned his mask tonight.

* * *

"Nikki, I think everyone's going to the summer game tonight, sure you don't want to go? You are technically a student of Gotham University and it is tradition to go the practice football game against Metropolis."

"No thanks, Stu," Nicole responded as she zipped up her black flight bag. It had been a long week and it was finally Friday afternoon. Everyone had acted like she was made of glass the entire week, and even though it seemed Bruce was back to his normality yesterday, she was ready for her flight—the one thing that assuredly relieved her tension.

Stuart stood staring out the window to the parking lot below, rubbing his temples.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Stuart turned and gave a half smile. "Yeah. I've just got a killer headache."

"Would you like some Advil?"

"Ah…you know what, that'd be great. The parking lot is pretty bare today."

"Mhm," Nicole affirmed as she fished the small bottle out of a nearby cabinet. "Most of the kids that live here go to Gotham U, so I assume they're all at the game. Here you go," she said as she handed him the brown tablets.

Stuart swallowed them in one gulp. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Nicole replied as she picked up her heavy flight bag.

"Then let's go. It's best to leave a few minutes early with the traffic. We'll take my car."

Nicole nodded and opened the door for Stuart.

"Here, let me get that," he said, motioning to the heavy bag.

She let him take it and thanked him before she locked the door. Turning to follow him down the stairs to the parking lot, she realized that the complex really was deserted. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when the parking lot was mostly empty.

"The car's over there near the back. I had to park far out since so many people were tailgating."

Nicole nodded and followed him to the navy Crown Victoria that screamed unmarked police car. Stuart unlocked her door and opened it for her. She took her bag as she slid into the cream leather seat, feeling as if she were entering a sauna. She dug out her notebook to review last week's lesson as Stuart climbed in next to her. Before he could start the car, a knock on the driver's side window startled Nicole and she looked at Stuart uncertainly. He gave her a reassuring smile and rolled his window down.

"I'm sorry to bother you guys, but my car won't start and I'm trying to get to the game. I could use some help if you could spare a few minutes," the man outside responded. Nicole didn't know why but he seemed familiar. He wore a tight white t-shirt and was fairly tall with short dark blonde hair concealed under a Gotham Knights ball cap. And though he smiled pleasantly at the two, Nicole couldn't place his face.

Stuart seemed to hesitate for a minute before looking back at Nicole. "Sure, where are you parked?"

"Over there near the back of the lot. I had to fight for a space back there when I got home from class."

Stuart nodded at the man. "Alright." He turned his attention to Nicole. "Stay here."

Nicole watched silently as he exited the car, closing it behind him. She quickly reached over and pressed the automatic lock button. For some reason she was uneasy.

Stuart followed the man to a maroon Lexus, making small talk along the way. As he neared the car, he noticed a student placard in the window as well as an apartment pass. Still, he remained on his guard.

"Hey, if you'll grab tool kit from the trunk, I'll pop the hood," the man said.

"Sure," Stuart said as he rounded the car. Pulling open the trunk, he rummaged around for the tool kit. "So, I didn't catch your name," he mentioned.

Stuart was startled by the blur coming from around the car. Before he could react he felt a sudden burst of pain in his head and fell to the ground.

Standing over the body of the young cop the man wiped off the edge of a monkey wrench. "And I never gave you one," he said to himself. Placing the wrench in the back of his pocket, he jogged to the Crown Victoria and began shouting frantically.

Nicole put her notebook to the side as her forehead wrinkled in confusion at the new intrusion.

"Hey! Miss! You gotta help me! He just collapsed!"

Remembering Stuart's migraine, Nicole bolted out of the car, following the imposing man. Halfway through the parking lot, she could see Stuart's body sprawled on the pavement behind the Lexus.

"Oh no," she cried as she knelt down beside him. "Do you have a cell? Can you call 911?"

"Yeah, it's in my car, let me get it."

Nicole ran her hands through Stuart's hair feeling a sticky liquid. Lifting her hand, she recoiled slightly at the sight of blood that coated her palm. Staring in horror at her friend, she noticed the pool of rust that was beginning form. Before she realized what was happening, she felt the jab of the needle in her neck.

"No! You bastard! What did you do? Let go of me," she screamed as she flailed around, but it was no use, the stranger had her pinned to his body and she was losing strength quickly. The last thing Nicole uttered before darkness consumed her was, "No."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN:** I'm really sorry I haven't updated sooner. In my defense I've been recovering from surgery and pain medicine doesn't really work as motivation to write.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my OC's and my own thoughts.

* * *

"_Born to be down  
I've learned all my lessons  
Before now  
Born to be down  
I think you'll get used to it"_

_Born to Be Down_ - Local H

* * *

"Come on you piece of shit! Unlock," Rebecca spat as she fumbled with the lock to her apartment. The deadbolt was notoriously temperamental during the summer season due to the heat and humidity and she was in no mood to fight with it tonight. Finally, the lock gave way under the pressure with a reassuring click. She sighed in relief. One of these days, she was sure her key was going to snap in two, leaving her stranded outside.

Twisting the bronze handle, she opened the door and was immediately thankful for coolness of the room. It was hot as hell outside, even this late in the evening, and she'd been sweating since she began her walk from the train stop. Normally she wouldn't have risked a mugging on the train, but Gotham University's campus had been swamped with visitors attending the game tonight and parking was too much of a hassle.

Flicking on the living room lights, she dropped her bag near the stairs yawned. She wasn't sure who had come up with the idea of Friday afternoon labs, but she suspected they needed a swift kick in the ass. This particular lab ended at five, which was nearly four hours ago. However, she had to re-input data for one of her group's experiments after the program had crashed yet again, because the engineering department was too underfunded to buy newer computers. Now it was nearly ten at night and she was starving.

She strode into the kitchen on a mission and opened the refrigerator door with purpose, bathing the darkened room in dim yellow light. Chewing on her lip, she stared at the contents, which mostly consisted of leftover Chinese cartons from a few nights ago. Taking out the nearest carton, which happened to be half full of sweet and sour chicken, she opened the lid and sniffed. Immediately she hadn't wished as she made a face and chucked the wretched food into the trash bin. She had meant to buy groceries tonight but going out to the supermarket was the last thing she felt like doing. Oh well, she could always order a pizza.

"Hey, Nikki?"

Her voice echoed throughout the apartment but there was no reply. Making her way upstairs, Rebecca opened Nicole's door and turned on the light, finding it empty.

_Odd. I thought I saw her car in the parking lot. Where could she be?_

Pulling out her cell, Rebecca keyed in Nicole's number and waited for her to answer. After several rings, it directed Rebecca to Nicole's voicemail. More than likely, she was with Stuart. In fact, since Stuart obviously liked her, they were probably in the middle of some sort of date. It would surely explain her not answering her phone.

She wasn't sure how she felt about the younger man in all honesty. He seemed like a standup guy but there were quirks that irritated her. For instance, what kind of man asks his charge out two days after meeting her when she's still in mortal danger? That really grated on her nerves. She was protective of her best friend and having the bodyguard put her in an emotionally vulnerable position, more so than she already was, really got to her. Sure, his intentions may have been honorable, but she couldn't be sure. And that gosh awful Chewbacca impression…she didn't even want to remember that!

After making her way downstairs and ordering a large veggie pizza, Rebecca collapsed into the couch and began skimming through the television channels. Luckily the pizza place was nearby and she only waited thirty minutes for her meal. After giving the driver a hefty tip for his fast delivery, Rebecca began hungrily devouring the pizza as she watched an old romance movie. After her fifth piece of pizza, which happened to be loaded with green bell peppers, something which she was adamant about and loved, she was satiated to the point of bursting. Lazily she rose from her position and went into the kitchen to put the leftovers away. As she cleaned out a place for the pizza in the fridge, chucking more leftovers into the bin, she realized that she would have to take the trash out and grumbled. She wasn't in the mood to venture back out into the heat. But it had to be done.

She tied the heavy white bag and fought with the trash can until she gained its release. All but dragging the bag, she crossed through the living room and slid her well manicured toes into a pair of pink flip flops. Opening the door, she made her way across the landing and down the flight of stairs to the parking lot as the sweat began to form on the nape of her neck under her thick hair. Glancing sideways at the red Blazer, she suddenly shifted course for it. Peering on the inside for evidence to validate what she already knew, she wondered why Nicole had left her car behind when Stuart's was obviously still in the parking lot. His car had cop written all over it.

Shrugging the concern off she turned saw the nearby dumpster that she frequented and groaned. The day's tailgating activities had filled it higher than she could throw the bag. Glancing sideways, she spied the dumpster in the far, darkly lit corner of the parking lot. She absolutely hated going there at night since it gave her the creeps but it would have to be done.

She picked up her pace as she crossed the sparsely decorated lot. It seemed everyone was still sitting in traffic after tonight's game or hitting up the bars. Upon reaching the blue dumpster, she noticed that it too was filled over the brim. Summoning what strength she had, she lobbed the white bag to the top of the pile and couldn't help smiling—until the bag fell off the side of the dumpster. It seemed that it just wasn't her night.

She made her way to the side of the dumpster, hoping nothing popped out behind the row of trees. She had successfully retrieved the bag when she noticed a polished boot reflecting what little light the moon gave. Cautiously, she crept to the edge of the dumpster and peered around.

The shock of finding the seemingly lifeless body wasn't what raised every hair on the back of her neck as she drew a mouthful of foul air. It was the familiar lanky form of the gingered haired bodyguard that shook her to her very core. _Oh shit_ was the only thought that Rebecca could manage to grasp.

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in the black leather chair, wearing his familiar black t-shirt and cotton pants. He wasn't quite ready to adorn the heavy armor of Batman yet and he saw no reason why he shouldn't be comfortable as waited on the computer to finish running the findings of the trace evidence he'd found a few nights ago. Even for the state of the art equipment that he'd pilfered from the basement of Wayne Enterprises, examining DNA evidence and toxicity screenings was a painstakingly slow process. The evidence he'd given to Gordon already was being processed in the crime lab and was nearly identical to the bit of evidence he'd gathered. Still, it never hurt to have multiple analyses being done.

He'd been staring at the photographs for quite some time. The height of the blood spatter on the wall indicated that the victim had been sitting or kneeling when they were killed. The spatter pattern itself indicated that they had been killed from the front, with the killer approaching them, and with brutal, excessive force. Knives were very personal weapons and it took a lot of hatred to do this to one person, much less multiple women. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly the killer's motivation was.

He was frustrated as he pushed the photos away from him. He was little closer to finding the killer than he was a month ago. There was too little forensic evidence and nothing to compare it to and virtually no link between the victims. Lucius had given him a list of over a hundred gyms to check out on top of it all, and that was the narrowed down list. It seemed that unless there was some major break in the case that the latest victim would never be found.

He paused momentarily, settled back in the comfortable chair, and listened to the conversation on the police scanner. For the past half hour there had been reports of a major pile up on the interstate with serious injuries. After listening to the conversation for a few minutes, he was just about to get back to examining the files when he heard the report of an officer down. By now it was almost second nature to lend an ear to the scanner for such crimes, in case he was needed. He'd already risen from his sitting position, determined to get his armor considering the nature of the call when he finally heard the address. It took a second for him to realize why the address sounded so familiar to him, and when it did, an icy sensation of shock perforated his body as he put two and two together.

It seemed like it took him an eternity to put on his heavy armor when in reality, it was only two minutes considering he had the routine down. All he could think of was that this couldn't be happening. He may not have been romantically involved with Nicole like he was Rachel, but she was still a part of his life. Whether he would admit it to others or not, it was always his biggest fear to lose those closest to him. And for whatever reason he had yet to fathom, he considered Nicole one of those people.

He knew that he needed to allow himself to feel the fear. But he also knew that in just a few minutes he would need to compartmentalize it away. It was something he'd learned during his time at the monastery. Always pay attention to what you feel. Fear was an incentive. But it was necessary to control it, otherwise he would be vulnerable.

Still, Bruce Wayne and Batman were both human. And no amount of training that he'd gone through could entirely rid his mind of the two nagging thoughts that were racing through his head. The first thought was that it was happening again, even if it wasn't due to his actions this time. The second thought was that unless he came up with some ground breaking evidence soon, Nicole would die.

As soon as Bruce was in his Tumbler, the Batman persona took over. Within seconds, he was gunning the engine and bounding through the waterfall, racing toward Gotham, and hoping that the officers didn't contaminate the crime scene.

* * *

Sirens continually shrieked through the night as the automatic double glass doors leading into the newly rebuilt Gotham General, slid open for Gordon. He faltered in his stride for a second, taken aback by the sight of gurneys spilling into the waiting room from the triage hallway, most of the afflicted victims were from the accident brought in a short while ago. He never particularly did like hospitals, though he assumed it was due to the smell. As the momentary hesitation faded, Gordon continued his stride to the admissions window.

A plump, some-what harried woman slid the window open with a bang that echoed throughout the hectic room.

"Yes?"

"I need to check on the conditions of three officers that were recently brought in," Gordon stated politely.

"And are you related to them?"

"No but—"

"Then you'll have to wait out here. Only family gets back," she added dourly before shutting the window back.

Gordon breathed in deeply to keep calm. Slowly he tapped on the window again, as he removed his badge.

This time the window opened with a force that he was certain should have at least cracked it.

"I'm with the Gotham City-"

"I don't care who you're with. It's overloaded back there and unless you're the commissioner himself, you're not getting through. Now I said take a seat!"

"Look I _am_," he started only to be cut off again by a voice from behind.

"Commissioner Gordon! What brings you to the E.R. on a full moon?"

The woman in front of him paled significantly at his title, giving him just a little satisfaction in the process.

"Well three of my officers were brought in tonight, Mr. Day. Or is that Doctor Day? You didn't mention you were a doctor when we spoke earlier."

Julian gave a half smile. "Dr. Day is correct. I'm actually on loan from Metropolis to fill in for someone else on maternity leave. Now tell me Commissioner, how has our Betsy been treating you?"

Betsy slammed the admitting window closed and glared at the two.

"She'll come around, she's just embarrassed. Now, why don't I take you back to check up on your men?"

Gordon nodded and gave one last glare at Betsy who ignored him completely before fallin in step beside Dr. Day.

"Are all these from the accident?"

Julian nodded. "Most of them yes. There's also the run of the mill shootings and injuries we get every full moon. Some are illnesses. But victims keep pouring in from that pile-up. I was lucky I avoided it on my way in for the night shift."

Gordon couldn't believe how full this place was, even for a full moon; it was pushing its limits.

"Here we are Commissioner. Avery and Purefoy are in examining rooms C and D," Julian said, motioning to the rooms on his right.

"What about Mitchell?"

"He's currently undergoing an MRI. Of the three, his injuries are the most severe. I checked him out myself and there's severe head trauma. He was unresponsive so we'll just have to wait for the results."

Gordon had a sinking feeling in his gut. Mitchell was a great kid, but maybe he just wasn't ready for this type of detail yet. _Don't jump to conclusions; you don't even know what's happened yet._

"Dr. Day, did you also treat Avery and Purefoy?"

"No, but I know the doctor that did. He said it seemed like some sort of poisoning from the symptoms. Avery is still out but Purefoy was lucid a few minutes ago."

"Do they know what caused it?"

"Not yet. The blood is in the lab being tested as we speak. But you're free to talk to Purefoy if you like. Just don't upset him Commissioner."

"Thanks," Gordon replied somberly.

* * *

Batman had ditched his Tumbler a few blocks east of the hastily rebuilt hospital, which of course, was partially funded by Wayne Enterprises in remembrance of Thomas Wayne, M.D. Naturally, after the Joker blew the former hospital sky high, the board insisted on making it as secure as possible. Unfortunately for Batman, this meant high tech security in all the right places. Considering Wayne Enterprises had designed the security system, Batman considered dismantling a portion of the system in order to make his entrance. Had it been any other slow night, it might have been possible. Tonight, however, the ER was bustling with patients and extra staff had been called in to deal with the overflow, not to mention the areas crawling with officers paying their respects to their injured comrades. Somehow, Batman didn't think the wisest course of action would involve strolling through the lobby and exchanging pleasantries in the elevator with other visitors while still in full regalia. After all, he was still on the most wanted list. Normally, such a task as entering a hospital would be delegated to Bruce Wayne, who could charm almost any female who crossed his path. Unfortunately, there was no sane reason Bruce Wayne would be strolling the corridors of Gotham General tonight.

And so it was that Batman was creeping like a prowler in the bushes on the far side of the hospital, thankful the offices nearby were darkened and prying eyes were not to be found. In some regards he was thankful for the age of Internet and technology. Most of Gotham General's patient data was now imputed into a new and secure state of the art computer system while using paper files as a back-up. Before the final version of the security system had been released, Batman had insured his secure access to the system with a ghost ID that could log on from the Cave, Tumbler, or Bunker. And tonight, that entrance had given him the room locations of the three police officers and had helped him form Plan C.

Squatting near the offices, he aimed his new grappling gun at the roof of the hospital. With a slight hiss, the black rope and hook soared unnoticed until it connected with the ledge. Batman gave it a tug, making sure it was secure, and slowly raised himself upward to the fourth floor. Once at the darkened window, he removed his pick lock from his belt and unlatched the window from the outside, thankful the hospital had decided to keep windows that could be opened in the design plans, even if they were only on the third floor and above.

The window opened silently, letting cold air seep into the night. Carefully he pulled himself through and retrieved his grapple. Once it was recoiled, he placed it on his belt and shut the window. He was fully of aware of beeps and whirs from the life support system upon entering the room but he was still taken aback by the amount of hoses and wires running to the man in the bed. Stuart looked horrible with the hose sticking out of his mouth, the machine in the corner breathing rhythmically from him.

He approached the bed feeling only slightly less angry with the man. He had known the extent of his injuries when he'd looked up the room information but he'd still clung to some hope that he would be lucid, that he had some bit of information. The anger that the younger man hadn't been able to protect Nicole ate at him, but so did the guilt. He knew it could've happened to any of the other officers. Hell, it _did_ happen to them. And he even could have insisted that she stay the afternoon at work instead of letting her leave early, preventing this.

He heard the door handle turn and dove behind a curtain as it opened, bathing the sterile room in light. Peering out from the curtain, he held his breath, willing himself to be invisible. A second later he exhaled as he saw who had entered the room.

"He's not lucid."

Gordon jumped and looked at him darkly. "I gathered."

"Has he said anything at all?"

"No. He's been unconscious since it happened. They still don't know what he was hit with. How did you even get in here? There are cops all over the place."

"Climbed."

"Should've known," Gordon muttered as he gazed solemnly out the window before taking something out of his pocket. "Here," he said as he handed Batman a small bag.

Batman arched his eyebrow in confusion at the writing on the bag that advertised an antipsychotic.

Gordon seemed to sense his expression and gave him a half smile. "It's all they had."

Batman pulled out a vial of dark liquid and looked at the label. Purefoy's blood. "Where did you get this?"

"I pilfered it after the nurse drew it. There's a vial from all three guys. The third was harder to get but I made a trip to the lab. Look, I don't know how you do it, but I know you can analyze it faster than we can. The doctor said he thought it was some kind of poison. Purefoy admits to ordering a pizza and drinks. Avery is knocked out, he digested more of it than Purefoy did."

"Did anyone notice anything?"

"No idea. I haven't had any reports yet. I've been here the whole time."

Batman nodded and strode to the window.

"Where are you going?"

"To the crime scene, there's nothing more I can do here and there may be evidence left there."

Gordon watched as Batman jumped out of the window. Closing the window, he wasn't surprised that he saw no sign of the vigilante below.

* * *

Northridge Apartments consisted of four brick buildings with the fronts facing inward toward a grassy quad and a huge parking lot down the hill behind building two for everyone to use. The bottom of the buildings housed flats while the white and stone stairs on either side of the building led to the second floor balcony, which consisted of entrances to the two storey townhouses. The third storey housed a faded white community balcony that could only be accessed from one of the town houses and was littered with various chairs and other decorations. The view from the balconies offered various scenes, mostly of the city or of campus nearby. The apartments were not overly expensive but were affordable, especially for students.

Tonight, most of the tenants had attended the practice game, a tradition in Gotham, and were still out at the various hot spots, or choice of dives, reveling in the night life. Those that had arrived home early, were somewhat surprised to have the police knocking on doors and questioning what they had seen. Slowly, the air became filled with frenzy as residents speculated what had happened. Of course it was Gotham, a city with high crime rates, but "the Ridge" as students called it, was one of those places in Gotham where nothing bad had ever really happened in their memory. And now their safe reverie was shattered.

With the exception of a few police still questioning residents, the area behind the dumpster where Stuart was found was roped off and devoid of officers, which wasn't surprising since it was nearing one in the morning. Batman hadn't found much in the past half hour; a few hair and blood samples that probably belong to Stuart and a few footprints that matched the typical police boot. But a new theory was occurring to him as he looked at the darkened window of Nicole's room. Cassidy's friends had reported that she'd left to meet someone she'd met in the club; unfortunately they didn't know who. He'd overheard Nicole talking about her digital camera earlier in the day to Stuart and he'd wondered if she had accidentally caught the intruder on camera. Finding it was worth a shot anyway.

Slowly, by the same methods he'd used at the hospital, Batman ascended to the second window of the third floor, only to find it screened. He didn't want to destroy the screen but he saw little choice. Taking a knife out of his belt, he cut the screen out while haphazardly hanging from a rope. Slowly, he unlocked the window by sliding the lock to the unlock position with his knife and raised the window. Swinging lightly on the rope, he entered her room and retracted the grapple, gathering his bearings in the dark.

He stepped over a pile of hastily strewn clothes, ones that she'd worn to work today he noticed, as he approached her bed. The room wasn't overly messy but it was definitely lived in. Flicking on a pen light for accuracy, he checked the desk first. Papers were strewn across it consisting of various notes from her classes but there wasn't any sort of camera to be found. He moved on to a catch all box, hoping for luck.

"What the fuck are you doing here!"

Caught off guard, Batman whirled around only to find a large knife heading for his arm. Without thinking, his training kicked in and he dove to the right.

"You had something to do with this didn't you!"

Before he could answer, something dark and heavy collided with his chest.

"I know Tae Kwon Do!"

Before Rebecca could charge him once again he had her pinned against the door and was squeezing her wrist until she dropped the knife.

"Let. Me. Go," she growled through clenched teeth.

"Put the knife down."

"No, I'm not like Nicole," she muttered darkly.

The statement caught him off guard and he relaxed his hold briefly.

She took the chance to free her leg and knee him in the groin.

"Owww! What the fuck are you wearing? Geez!"

Batman resumed his hold. "Stop fighting. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Oh, that's right Mr. Batman. You're not going to hurt me. You're just going to break in my house and pin me to a door and break my fucking kneecap and squeeze me until—dammit let go of my wrist. It hurts!"

Batman rolled his eyes. "Where's the camera?"

"What?"

"Nicole's camera, where is it?"

"Why do you want it? Are you on it? You DID take her didn't you? You fucking creep, she trusted you and went to bat for you!"

Batman had had enough. With quickness he didn't even know he possessed, he located a pressure point and she dropped the knife, and drew her hand to her chest, cradling it. Picking it up, he heard her scream as he stabbed it into the door above her head. If he found Nicole he'd have to buy her a new door and a new screen but so be it.

Rebecca opened her eyes and panted slightly. "Are you nuts? You could have killed me!"

Stepping toward her, Rebecca shrank against the door in reaction to his sheer size and presence. He leaned in toward her and simply growled, "I don't kill, but if I wanted you dead you would be cold by now."

Rebecca shivered and for the first time realized how truly terrifying his presence could be.

"I don't have time for childish games. Where is the camera?"

"Why do you want it?"

"Because I'm trying to find the guy killing these women."

"You think he's on her camera? The police would have asked by now if they thought he was."

Batman stood back. "Look, your friend is gone, taken by a maniac who kills women and poses their bodies. You want to help her? Give me the camera."

"How can I trust you?"

"Camera please," Batman commanded in a growl, ignoring her question.

Giving him a dark look, Nicole stalked from the room into her own while Batman followed silently behind. Turning on the light, she grabbed a black purse from her bed and turned to give it to the intruder. In the light, she was taken aback by his presence and size. The man looked positively evil.

"Here, the camera is in her purse. The officer gave it to me. Apparently it was left in Stuart's car."

"What else did they say?"

"Some kid saw a dark red car after it almost ran him down leaving. Other than that, they didn't say much."

Batman took the purse and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

Batman turned.

"We were both at the same club that night. I want this back," she said as she handed him a new shiny red camera. "Look, you better find her. She's my best friend and she sure as hell doesn't deserve this. She thinks highly of you so you better not let her down. And if you do let her down, I'll hunt you down myself."

"You're threatening to kill me," Batman asked with a slight edge of humor to his growl.

"I didn't say that. But I will find a way to cut off your balls if you don't bring her back," Rebecca replied, completely sincere.

Batman didn't retort to the threat, he only just walked away, leaving Rebecca staring at his retreating figure. There was no doubt that she would find a way to do it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer:** I only own my own OCs and none of the characters that are owned by DC, including Batman.

**AN:** Happy early Valentine's Day! I hope everyone has a great one. Thank you so much to everyone who has added this story to favorites, alerts, and reviews. You guys really help motivate me to write, especially when I'm completely stuck, like I was on this chapter. Things are going to get a bit dark, but let's face it; it's a story about a serial killer so that was bound to happen. I hope you all enjoy! And I'd also like to add a special thanks to my best friend for being my beta on this chapter! Happy Reading!

* * *

"_And I find it kinda funny  
I find it kinda sad  
The dreams in which I'm dying  
Are the best I've ever had"_

_Mad World_ –Gary Jules

* * *

The heat was stifling as Cassidy heaved a heavy sigh, this time one of frustration, as she pulled at the metal restraints that bound her wrists to the tethered chain. She had hoped that the sweat would lubricate her hands enough so that they would slide through metal bracelet, but she wasn't having much luck with it. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she pressed her back against the concrete wall behind her, thankful that it was slightly cool.

She could tell that it was daytime, not just by the small sliver of light that escaped from beneath the door above the stairs, but by the hustle and bustle of the city outside. The noises were vaguely familiar: the engine's revving, cars honking and neighbors yelling, but she could barely make them out due to the slight soundproofing of the walls.

Of course she'd known that the outside world hadn't heard her screams. Her throat had been raw and achy after the amount of screaming she had done the first day after she had woken up. And since then, she had watched four slivers of sunlight come and go—four days that she'd spent in this abysmal room.

The darkness had been almost as oppressive as the heat. She had feared it at first, but she soon learned that the darkness was an ally: When she was here in the darkness, she wasn't on _his_ mind. (And being on _his_ mind was something that she _desperately_ didn't want.)

No, the four days of consciousness had been full of torture. Often times she was beaten, even after she had submitted to her captor. She was drugged and her body ravaged. And she was left alone in the darkness and the heat, her own personal version of Hell: Alive, yet seemingly dead to the world beyond her cage of despair.

In the four days that Cassidy had been conscious, she came to realize what it meant to be consumed by hatred and fear. She came to know just what her physical limitations were. And Cassidy knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if she didn't gain a tangible purchase on hope, that if things didn't change, that she wasn't going to make it out of there alive. Even now, Cassidy warily questioned why the man had even kept her alive for so long. Her only answer was the he wanted her to suffer, and Cassidy Jenkins was certainly suffering, mentally and physically as sweat dampened her squalid clothing, making her reek of bodily fluids and sex as the cloth clung to her as if they were one.

She closed her eyes, trying to rest momentarily. She knew that her body needed to heal itself but she was still on edge. The sliver of light was slowly waning and she hadn't heard her captor stirring for quite a while. Whether it was a ploy to put her at ease-or whether the man was really gone-she had no idea.

Twisting her hand around the chain that held her right arm, she began yanking hard, hoping to loosen it from the wall. But it stubbornly held, just like the hundreds of times that she'd attempted it before. Still, she gritted her teeth and pulled with what energy she could muster until she heard a very audible slam.

Cassidy froze in place, left hand still on the iron chain, and eyes wide with fright as fear washed over her. She subconsciously slowed her breathing as she strained to listen to the uneven footsteps above. They didn't have the grace that they normally held, and Cassidy contemplated calling out to see if it was some knight in shining armor coming to rescue her.

She slowly let go of the chain and scooted into the dark corner, back against the wall, as she stared at the door above. Now she could see the tiniest bit of a shadow blocking out the sliver of light. She held her breath, praying it was a savior and she heard the knob jiggle.

The heavy wooden door swung open, revealing her captor and she tried to cower further into the darkness, as if she were burying herself in its depths. She watched as the man turned and bent, and then grunted, muttering something under his breath. When he appeared again, facing her, she could make out a limp figure in his arms as he began clopping down the stairs: She couldn't make out any features, save for the long, dark pony tail and an arm that dangled, scraping against the wooden stairs as he descended.

She winced as the woman was dumped unceremoniously to the hard floor across from her. There was no doubt that whoever she was would have a goose egg on her head whenever she woke up. Cassidy silently watched as the man lifted each wrist, and inserted them into the metal shackles. She wondered if she'd been like that—so unaware of what was going on and of her new surroundings. And for a brief moment, Cassidy envied the woman and her ignorance.

Once the woman was bound, the man stood up, cracking his back as he did so. He turned toward Cassidy and smiled, though it was anything but pleasant. Slowly, as if he were stalking prey before the attack, he slid toward Cassidy.

Her heart began racing and she broke out into a cold sweat as he drew near. He bent down, still smiling and took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, examining her swollen cheek and the fear in her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. I've brought you a friend and all you can do is cower in fear?"

The admonishment in his tone bristled Cassidy, but she refused to rise to his baiting.

"Oh I get it. You're not talking to me," he said, still grasping her chin. "You know what the problem is with a girl like you Cassidy? You're an ungrateful bitch," he spat. "I go out of _my_ way and bring _you_ someone to keep you company, and _you_ are such an ungrateful little whore that you can't even say thank you!"

"I…I'm…sorry-," Cassidy sputtered as the man violently released his grip. She bit back a sob as she felt the meaty palm of his hand impact her already swollen cheek.

"No. You're _not_ sorry-not yet. You women are _all_ the same: lying little whores. Apparently you've learned nothing in our time together," he sneered nastily.

Cassidy held her eyes together tightly as the tears began to spill over. She couldn't help it anymore, she just felt so broken. He grabbed her chin forcefully once again, as she blubbered in her own tears. "You'll regret not learning better manners."

With that, he released her chin and stormed from the room, slamming the aged door behind him. She heard the lock click and let a wail escape her lips as she clutched her swollen face. Cassidy Jenkins paid little attention to the woman across from her, to the world outside, or to the outer door slamming once again as she rocked back and forth, her body racked with sobbing, praying that somehow she would survive this ordeal.

* * *

Bruce Wayne discarded the heavy armor on the long metal table, breathing in the cool air of the cave as he did so. His hair was damp with sweat, as was the rest of his body, which was a common occurrence since his suit seemed to retain heat, no matter what season it was. Carefully, he removed the three vials of blood from his belt, along with two cameras: It may have been nearly dawn, but he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He strode to the opposite side of the cave, a man on a mission, and inserted the vials into one of the newer machines in his vast array of forensics equipment: A Wayne Enterprises prototype that had been green lit only a few months ago. Among its many features, it was able to run blood analysis and generate toxicology reports in a matter of a few hours, and was especially useful for trace analysis (It had certainly proved invaluable the past few weeks).

He pressed the button to start the initial test cycle and moved to his desk, his eyes already searching for the results from the machine's previous scan that Alfred had conducted while he was out. Biting back a yawn, he picked up the papers, sat in his high-backed chair, and began reading the analysis.

It seemed as if the blood samples from the warehouse matched Tiffany Anders, confirming that she had once been there. Bruce was convinced that she was also killed there, but he would let Gordon know later (considering Gordon already had a unit staked out at the place in the event the Calendar Killer made an appearance). However, Bruce thought that it was unlikely that he would return, considering the amount of time that had elapsed.

Thumbing through another stack of papers from an earlier analysis, Bruce's eyes widened when he read that the DNA analysis in the Metropolis file confirmed a match with the DNA found under the fingernails of Jessica York. Granted, the computer had failed to find a match in the records of just who the DNA belonged to, but at least he could now tie the murders together. Whoever it was has obviously left Metropolis nearly eight months ago, and then moved to Gotham where he continued his work.

Still, without a donor, the DNA wouldn't do much good. But it was progress, and he wouldn't begrudge what little headway he had made so far.

Swiveling in the chair, he picked up Rebecca Blake's shiny-new Nikon digital camera; he studied it carefully before connecting it to his computer. Suddenly, his monitor was flooded with pictures and videos -five hundred and sixty six pictures and 6 videos to be exact—and he was momentarily surprised at how many pictures she could take with a week-old camera. He flipped through many of the pictures of engineering students, noting the people that cropped up in more than one picture, and then scoured through random pictures showing Nicole and Rebecca goofing off in their apartment. He felt slightly voyeuristic, watching videos of the two girls dancing around the middle of their living room to some pop song that he didn't recognize. He told himself that it was just research, even if he knew it was a lie, trying to appease his conscience. It didn't work, so he clicked through to the next set of pictures which were taken at the amusement park, remembering what he felt. After examining them for anything out of the ordinary, he moved on to the last set—pictures from their last night out at the club. Still, he didn't see any sign of Cassidy or anyone that was watching the group, so he disconnected the Nikon with a sigh.

Setting the little red camera aside, he grabbed Nicole's- a slightly scratched, silver Sony Cybershot-and hooked the USB cord to his computer. He wasn't sure what surprised him more: the fact she had enough memory for eight hundred pictures and nearly forty videos, or that she had used it _all_. No doubt both women were fond of documenting every moment in their lives, and Bruce wryly thought that the two of them could have made a fortune as paparazzi. Shaking the thought away, he began poring over the pictures.

He found pictures of many of Gotham's attractions that were obviously from when she first arrived: These tourist-type pictures showed no one of significance besides herself and her friends. As for the videos, most were of concerts or air shows. It seemed that Nicole was rather eclectic, a fan of multiple genres of rock. The pictures from the concerts showed a wilder side to the young woman than he knew. There were also hundreds of photos from air shows and fly-ins, making it easy to flip through those without being too studious.

Finally he came to the pictures from Amusement Mile. The bulk of them were of Rebecca, Nicole and the various treats and rides. A few were of him, which surprised him somewhat. Most were candid shots that he himself had been unaware of at the time. He had been genuinely happy in those pictures, especially in their company, but he hadn't noticed that he was being photographed from afar. Briefly he wondered if it was Rebecca rather than Nicole that had taken the photos but he soon pushed the thought to the back of his mind- now wasn't the time for reminiscing.

Like Rebecca's camera, the last pictures on Nicole's were of her last night out. It was apparent that she and her friends had become quite inebriated as the night wore on, and the more they indulged, the more snapshots she felt obliged to take. There were a few shots of Nicole and Cassidy that he saved to his computer to analyze more thoroughly, but it was the last picture that made him stop in his tracks, his heartbeat quickening with the thrill of discovery.

At that moment came a beeping sound from across the cave, signaling the end of the analysis he'd been waiting on. Bruce hadn't realized just how long he'd been searching the photos and immediately rose, much to the chagrin of his stiffened leg muscles, and retrieved the printout from the machine. After studying it for a few moments, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion: It seemed that Purefoy and Avery both had traces of Belladonna in their blood.

He'd read about it somewhere and knew that it fit with both of the men's symptoms: the dilation of pupils, upset stomachs, and even unconsciousness if mixed with the wrong things. However, what confused him is that both traces indicated that the men had been given enough to incapacitate them rather than kill them. Suddenly, an idea began to take root in Bruce's head.

He grabbed the file on Stuart Mitchell and flipped through it, already having read that he hadn't had any Belladonna in his system, and stared at the MRI. Bruce was no doctor, but he did know a thing or two about where to land a blow, and the impact area on Stuart's skull was one _least_ likely to cause significant brain damage or death.

Like a flash of a camera, Bruce connected everything at once: the excessive violence toward women, the cauterizing of Jessica York's tattoo, the three incapacitated men charged to watch Nicole Miller, and the lack of a crime scene on Father's Day (another major holiday). Whoever this psycho was had been wronged by a woman in the past, most likely rejected in some form, and was taking out his vengeful fantasies on female victims. In fact, they had all been strong, confident women, quite easy to approach. The earliest of them were prostitutes, those that would be easily missed, but he had progressed rapidly to women who were easily seen, some of whom had a less than desirable reputation. And with each killing he was changing not only the choice of victim (based on some demented, perceived value of worth), but the brutality and cunning of the tactics he employed. It wasn't a fine tuned motive that Bruce had realized, by any means, but the glaringly obvious fact that he'd left three men alive only solidified how much the Calendar Killer hated his victims.

Now for the most pressing question: Who would do such a thing?

Remembering the photo he'd found, he returned to the monitor, enlarging and enhancing the image. It wasn't the smiling face of Nicole and her unknown friends that he was looking at, but what he saw in the background: Cassidy leaning up against the bar, her arm on the man in front of her. His back was to the camera, but Bruce could already tell that he was tall, possessed light-colored hair, and impeccably dressed. Bruce quickly began studying the (hunched or upright?) form intensely, looking for marks or other clues: anything that might reveal the identity of the figure on the screen before him.

"Found something have you, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, emerging from the darkness near the elevator. Bruce was a bit surprised that he hadn't heard the groaning of the ancient machine, but he quickly brushed it off.

"Maybe. A picture of Cassidy and an unknown male," replied Bruce, not looking away from the monitor.

Alfred gazed at the monitor over the younger man's shoulder. "You can't see his face."

"No. But it's the only picture we have."

"And out of all of the men this young lady might have known, why do you think it's him, sir?"

Bruce turned in his chair and grabbed a small evidence bag. "This hair I found in the warehouse is a match to the one found in Metropolis. Both are blonde. Granted, one was found in a dumpster but I don't believe it's a coincidence that the same person's hair was found at two murder scenes- nevermind the fact that DNA fragments from Jessica York's fingernails were a match for the follicles found in Metropolis and the warehouse." Bruce stared at Alfred, noticing the files he held in his arms. "What's that?" he asked, motioning toward the manila bundle.

"Well, sir, I decided to look up information on the Lanford warehouse, since you were called away last night. I know the Commissioner is doing the same, but they have to obtain the information by-ah, shall we say- more honest means (which takes a bit longer to do, I might add)"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his manservant. "What did you find?"

"The warehouse is owned by Broadway Properties."

"Broadway deals with half of the commercial and industrial properties in Gotham."

"Correct. And this property has been on the market for quite some time, under the care of a Mr. Harper-"

"Harper…you don't mean Alex Harper?"

"His son, I believe, sir."

"Hm. That may be the first real lead we've had all along. I'll pass it along to Gordon so that he can bring him in for questioning," Bruce said, picking up the phone with a direct line to the Commissioner's office. It seemed like things were finally looking up, but who knew when (or from where) the next critical lead in the case would surface.

* * *

Nicole drew in a haggard gasp that chaffed her raw throat. She let out a wheeze and struggled to control her gulps of air as her eyes fluttered open. She panicked in the blackness of the room for a moment, still half caught in a nightmare of drowning in some deep abyss until she rolled over onto her back—and onto a hard surface.  
Blinking her eyes rapidly, she tried to focus on something, anything really, to overcome the pain in her head. She was disoriented and dizzy and virtually blind in the shadows. Her skin was slick with sweat and gritty with something—she couldn't tell what. She forced down a wave of nausea and tried to focus on her breathing to remain calm, choking on the fetid stench that wafted through the inky room as she drew a deep breath. She fought desperately to ignore roaring in her ears and the pounding in her skull.

Raising her hand to her head, she was startled by a series of metallic clanks, making her want to cry out for help but her throat was too thick and dry and her tongue felt like dead weight in her mouth. Still, she cradled her sore head, despite the noise, and was surprised to discover something crusty caked on her forehead. Following the trail of dried blood upward, she winced as her finger touched the wound near hear hairline where she had collided with the floor. No wonder her head was pounding. A wave of nausea wracked her body and her hand flew to her mouth, trying to contain the contents of the stomach as the metal continued clanking. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than the darkness to go way and for the eerie noise to end.

And then, just as suddenly as she had woken, the ringing in her ears lessened and she became aware of another noise-hissing. No not hissing exactly, more like whispering, but it was still hard to focus on the words.

"Hey, are you awake?" That was the phrase that her ears managed to recognize. It seemed a bit hurried, but maybe it was just her.

Nicole attempted to speak but her tongue was too heavy and only a low moan slipped out.

"Was that you?"

Nicole's eyes squinted shut in concentration and she willed her tongue to work. "Yeah," was all she could muster.

"Good you're awake! I was getting worried," the voice rasped.

"Wh-who," Nicole slurred drunkenly, trying to gain control of her voice once again.

"Cassidy, but that's not important right now. What's important is that we need to find a way out of here. Do you have anything on you? Anything that could unlock the shackles?"

Nicole tried to focus. It took a few minutes for her to place the name and when she did she let out a grunt as her memory came flooding back to her. She moved her arm and heard the horrible resonance of chains sliding across a concrete floor. Apparently Cassidy was serious about the shackles part. She tried to sit up but the blinding pain in her head kept her down and elicited a moan.

"Did you find anything?"

"No. Can't look yet. It hurts. What's wrong with me?" she brokenly declared.

"You've been drugged, but it'll wear off. And keep your voice down, he'll hear us!"

Nicole didn't want to know exactly who he was, though she had a pretty good idea of who it might be.

"Where are we?"

Cassidy was exasperated with the questions and it showed in the harshness of her whisper. "I don't know some basement! Look do you have anything or not, we have to get out of here, like now!"

Nicole rolled over onto her side and used one of the chains to pull herself up, grunting in agony as she did so. Slowly, she slid her hand into the pockets of her jeans, hoping she would find something. Apparently her captor had already searched them because all she found was lint. Willing the frustration away, she moved her left foot to her lap, hoping to use the aglets from the laces of her tennis shoes only to discover that her shoes were missing entirely. Sighing loudly she pulled at the chains shackled to her wrists, hoping that they would give way. They didn't.

"I don't have anything," Nicole stated morosely.

"Did you check everywhere? Your jeans? Shirt? Bra? Any jewelry or piercings you still have? Pins in your hair," Cassidy pleaded.

Nicole ran her hands over her sweat dampened body, careful to feel for anything that might be of use and was dismayed to find that she had nothing left upon her person.

"There's nothing. I think he searched me," Nicole managed to say coherently, feeling somewhat violated.

Cassidy was silent for a moment, her last vestige of hope having been smothered like a dying flame, as tears began prickling her eyes.

Nicole seemed to sense her despondency despite the chasm between them. "Someone will come for us," she reassured, the words hanging in the thickness of the room.

Cassidy sniffled, "Then why haven't they come yet?"

Nicole worded her next statement carefully, knowing that she needed to provide hope for both of them. "They're looking for us, and they already have more evidence than they had a week ago."

Cassidy was about to ask another question when both girls were suddenly startled by the basement door creaking open, the light behind revealing a dark figure and causing them to shut their eyes momentarily against the cruel glare of light.

Nicole heard Cassidy whimper and the girl's chains drag against the floor as she scrambled to the corner across from Nicole, but she saw none of it. Instead, her gaze was completely transfixed upon the man sauntering down the wooden staircase as if he didn't have a care in the world. Though she couldn't see his features, something about the man inspired fear and gave him an air of power.

Without so much as glancing at the two women, the man walked into the middle of the room, separating the girls with his figure. Yellow light suddenly bathed the room as he pulled on the ancient string above, forcing Nicole to wrench her eyes shut.

Seconds later, she forced them open, blinking several times as she took in the scene around her, her dark eyes searching for a possible weapon or escape route. The floors were coated with dust and grime, causing the grittiness that she felt against her skin. The room itself was barren and gray, the only fixtures being a hot water heater under the stairs and the two sets of restraints bound to each wall.

Wrenching her eyes from the surrounding scene, she focused on the figure in front of her. Though his back was to her, she could tell that he was impeccably dressed in chino pants and a cerulean polo shirt with a head full of wavy blonde hair. His height was as impressive as it had been that night in the alley, but unlike their brief encounters before, she never quite realized how his stature had exuded such raw power, something that unnerved her as it was obviously meant to do.

Still, she sat helplessly as he stalked toward Cassidy with an ease that almost sent the chills up Nicole's spine.

"My dear, Cassidy," he purred. "Have you been acquainting yourself with our new guest?"

Cassidy shook her head vigorously from side to side; her eyes never leaving the hell spawn in front of her.

He sighed and managed to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. "That's too bad. Really it is. She's our _guest_," he emphasized, gesturing to Nicole behind him, "and you're still not mannered enough to greet her for us? I see you're not any well mannered than you were earlier," he totted.

Cassidy blanched and looked dangerously close to fainting, though she remained silent, her pale lips pinched in a thin line.

"Well I guess it's up to me then, isn't it," the man asked of no one in particular. Side stepping to the right so that Cassidy could get a good look at the girl behind him, he once again gestured behind himself. "Take a good look Cassidy. Do you recognize her?"

Cassidy obeyed, more out of curiosity than anything else, though her sandy eyebrows were knitted in confusion. Across from her, the girl was covered in dried blood from her hairline down to her cheek. A blackened eye in the middle of healing along with a gash covered by butterfly clips on her forehead marred the rest of her features. It was enough to cause Cassidy to visibly wince at the woman's injuries though she had plenty of her own. Still, she couldn't place the wounded face even though it did seem vaguely familiar.

"Cassidy, I'd like you to meet Nicole Miller of unit 890 Northridge Apartments, located near Gotham University, at least that's what it lists on her driver's license. Of course, you might know her from Hue. Either way, it's mostly your fault she's here with us. Would you like to know why? And do speak up, it's rude to ignore a question."

Nicole watched as Cassidy asked why she was here, with a shaky voice.

"Well, it appears Miss Miller fancies herself a hero. She tried to save you that night you know," he simply stated as Cassidy's eyes widened in horror and flickered to Nicole's face.

"Oh yes. She even attacked me to free you! Such selflessness! Miss Miller, the saint of Gotham," he taunted. "But I wasn't fooled by her," he stated almost as if speaking to himself.

He turned then, and it seemed that it only took a step for his lean form to close the gap between himself and Nicole. Suddenly, she was staring face to face with a pair of cobalt eyes hidden behind glasses, a smirk on his face showing off his pearly teeth, and she felt the tinges of recognition grasp her.

"You!" she blurted out, unable to contain herself. She couldn't believe that the man before her was the same man that had stopped to hold her things in the rain only a couple of weeks ago.

He chuckled then, deepening the gap between them as he leaned away, letting Cassidy watch as he caressed the side of Nicole's face that wasn't coated in dried blood.

Nicole wanted desperately to lash out, to knock his large hand away, but she knew that it would do no good as long as she was bound in chains and not able to escape for the last thing Nicole wanted was retaliation for a whim she couldn't control.

"Yes, I! I have to admit, I was afraid you wouldn't know me. You know, it was a very rude thing that you did, not even giving me a second glance. Weren't you raised with any manners at all," he questioned dramatically.

Nicole bit back a retort, grinding her teeth as she did so.

"No matter. I'm going to teach you Nicole. And when I'm done with you, it will be something that you'll never regret."

And just as suddenly as he had arrived, he leapt up and pulled the chain above him, once again leaving Nicole blind in the dark. She waited for something, anything to happen, but was surprised when the man simply began climbing the wooden stairs without as much as another word.

Before he closed the wooden door behind him, he seemed to feel Nicole's gawk and turned back. "I think I'll leave you two alone for now. I'm sure you'll want to think about what I've said."

And with that, the man retreated from the room, swinging the door shut behind him and leaving the two women in the darkness. Cassidy sobbed about how sorry she was over and over again until she eventually cried herself to sleep while Nicole sat silently, trying to form some kind of plan that could save them both and praying that somehow, someone would discover them, and she wouldn't have to.


	15. Chapter 15

**DISCLAIMER: **I only own my characters and the majority of my plot. Most things are borrowed.

**AN:** I'm sorry for the delay. I started working full time again and then hit a writer's block. Fortunately that's gone and I'll be able to update a bit quicker. This story is rated M for a reason. This chapter contains foul language and other graphic material. This is the last update for this chapter, I promise. Unfortunately all the changes I made in Word didn't transfer for some reason. Also, if there are any tiny errors, I appologize. I'm doing this chapter without a beta, and although I try, I don't always catch every mistake.

* * *

"_I'd listen to the words he'd say  
but in his voice I heard decay  
the plastic face forced to portray  
all the insides left cold and gray  
there is a place that still remains  
it eats the fear it eats the pain  
the sweetest price he'll have to pay  
the day the whole world went away"_

_The Day the World Went Away_ by Nine Inch Nails

* * *

Commissioner Gordon watched through the window as Roger Harper was dumped onto a hard, metal folding chair that had seen better days by the slightly balding officer arresting officer. Gordon didn't have to be present in the halls to hear the jeers directed at the suspect that spewed from the mouths of cops under his command. He didn't blame the cops either; three of their own had been attacked. Two of the officers were on the mend but Stuart Mitchell still hadn't shown any positive signs of recovery; in fact his condition had deteriorated over the past few days. And to say that Stuart was popular with his precinct was an understatement; nearly everyone loved the younger man.

Roger Harper's brilliant blue eyes gazed at the two way mirror with malice, boring a hole straight through Gordon, almost as if he actually knew where he was standing. Gordon observed the man through the glass as Roger propped his arms up on the chipped Formica table, his wrists still bound tightly in metal handcuffs. Everything about his posture screamed defiance and authority.

"Well, Commissioner. I assume it _is_ you that sent your little pigs after me. Mind telling me why I'm here before I lose even more clients today," he asked with a bite.

Gordon scowled at the man. He'd heard stories about Harper that made Bruce Wayne's worst tabloid fodder look like evidence for sainthood. Still, despite the stories, he'd been somewhat surprised when the Batman had sent his evidence over. He wouldn't have thought Harper to be a murder; a hateful womanizer that had a penchant for eight balls, yes, but not a cold blooded serial killer. Still, even the most gruesome, unhinged men could live a farce that fooled even their loved ones until they were suddenly exposed; just look at the once respected Dr. Crane.

Roger looked up at Gordon as he entered the room through the bulky gray door; his icy smirk never leaving his lips.

"Nice of you to join me, Commissioner, I was beginning to wonder when you'd slither in."

Gordon resisted the urge to slap the smirk off of the other man's face.

"Tell me James," Harper started, "it is James isn't it? Why exactly did your incompetent pigs drag me out of my office during a very important meeting with prospective investors from New York, _wealthy _investors no less, to haul me down to this pathetic shithole? Oh, and _James_," Harper spat the name as if it were the most vile thing he'd ever come across, " you better make it good or else you might be out of a job after my tee time with Mayor Garcia."

Jim Gordon narrowed his eyes at the threat without saying anything as he placed the brown file on the table top, dropping into the seat opposite of Roger Harper as he did so. Taking his time, he began shuffling through the file, flipping papers, until he reached the one he was looking for and pulled it out.

"It says here, that you were charged with assaulting your former wife, Andrea Harper. Is that accurate?"

"Seriously? You had me brought in for this bullshit? Those charges were dropped," Harper growled.

"Ah. So they were. My mistake. It seems that there was one other assault charge, against a Miss Alicia Davis wasn't there? Care to tell me about it?"

"Not particularly."

"I see. I could always get Miss Davis' side of the story. I believe she lives in Metropolis now, doesn't she?"

Roger's face stiffened. "What does this have to do with?"

"Just answer the question."

"Yeah, we had a fight back in senior year of high school when we were dating. I was charged and got probation." Roger shook his head back and forth, chuckling in disbelief. "What does that have to do with anything? It was over twenty years ago."

Gordon placed the paper back in the folder before flipping through it again. "It seems a bit coincidental that you've been charged with assault twice, all in domestic situations, pertaining to violence against women."

"What are you playing at Gordon?" Harper asked suspiciously.

Gordon removed a photo and slid it across the table. "Miranda Johnson. Remember her?"

"Of course. Alex brought her over a few times."

Gordon slid another picture across the table. "That's what she looked like the day we found her."

"What the fuck? Why the hell are you showing me this?"

"Miss Johnson cheated on your son. Broke his heart. Maybe you wanted to exact revenge?"

Harper pushed the photos away. "Over what? Some silly little slut? Girls like that are a dime a dozen, he would've found someone else in no time! He's a good looking kid. "

Gordon dug another photo out and slid it across the table. "You recognize her?"

"Sure, that's that cheerleader chick."

Gordon gave a grim smile before he slid something else over.

"What the hell is this," Roger bristled, a lock of blonde hair falling across his forehead as he paled.

"That, Mr. Harper, would be photos found at Miss Anders' residence. Rather intimate photos of you two aren't they? I believe there was also a tape, one amongst many, which were found. There were even a few notes written in your handwriting that her friends found in a keepsake box. Tell me, Roger, it _is_ Roger isn't it? That makes her a little more than just that "cheerleader chick" doesn't it?" Gordon paused momentarily, letting the barb hit its mark. "Did you kill Tiffany Anders?"

Roger Harper stared straight ahead, blue eyes narrowed in anger, and chose his next words carefully after a momentary pause, though they were filled with malice. "What you have is circumstantial at best Gordon. I want my lawyer. And you better kiss your career goodbye."

* * *

Bruce Wayne attacked the case files with renewed vigor after his breakthrough during the morning hours, however minor it may have been. After looking at the dossiers with new eyes, Bruce was drawn to the file of Tiffany Anders. The brutality of the murder was all wrong. At first he chalked it up to the killer escalating but even then, something about the violence nagged at him. Somehow, with Anders, it was as if the murder were personal in some way. Running with that avenue of thought, Bruce began searching headlines about Tiffany and was surprised to find a photo of her on the arm of Roger Harper. And then some of the pieces suddenly seemed to fall in place. Harper's company owned the murder site, he'd been romantically involved with one of the victim's, and his son was linked to another victim. Bruce had immediately sent the lead to Gordon.

With Alfred's help, Bruce began locating stores that sold Belladonna. On a hunch, Bruce made a list of the ones near Harper's office and other areas that he was known to frequent. He was able to narrow down the list to twelve stores, all located in various areas of Gotham.

By early afternoon, Bruce was shooting down the vast driveway of Wayne Manor on his motorcycle and speeding into Gotham on a hot summer day. He started with the store located the farthest away and began working his way in. After the eighth store, Bruce hadn't gleaned any new information other than a pocket full of phone numbers from eager store clerks and was beginning to waver in his resolve. Still, he would see his plan through. He pulled the bike into the side alley of Henrietta's that was reserved for parking and locked it up. Removing his helmet, he attached it to the back of his bike and slid a Gotham University cap from the pocket of his jeans. So far the fake name and casual getup hadn't attracted any unnecessary attention; most people just assumed he was an attractive student at the University. It would draw unnecessary attention to his mission if he threw around his real identity.

The aroma of Henrietta's assaulted his nostrils as soon as he stepped through the door. The spicy and flowery smells conflicted with each other as if they were warring to be the dominant scent. Unfortunately he was caught in the middle and felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. The store itself was full of incense and dried herbs among a barrage of eclectic items. It was one of the more unique places that he'd visited today.

The young brunette looked up from the book she was reading and stared at him with a smile as he approached the kiosk. "May I help you," she asked, a little too excitedly.

"Hopefully. Do you carry belladonna," Bruce asked.

"Normally, but we just sold our last batch a few days ago," she added, the brightness of her smile fading just a bit. "It's kind of odd," she mumbled.

"What's odd?"

The young girl turned a shade of red. "Oh, I didn't mean to say that out loud!"

"Don't worry about it, it's really intriguing. Mysterious, actually."

The brunette grinned. "Well, it's just that we don't always get a lot of guys asking for Belladonna. It's not one of our best sellers either so we don't carry a bunch of it. You're the second guy within a few days to ask for it."

Bruce treaded carefully with the next question. "Really? Did he say what he wanted it for? Maybe there's some secret cult of belladonna enthusiasts."

She grinned at his joke. "He seemed like the type. He was all mysterious…and just…I don't know weird."

"What was weird about him?"

"It's really hard to explain. At first he seemed really handsome. You know, older, tall, and blonde. But his eyes, they were this strange shade of blue. And they looked cold," she thought for a moment biting her lip as she recalled the memory.

"That is weird. Hopefully you won't have to see him again," he added thoughtfully.

"Yeah. Hey do you want me to get your number and call you when we have more," she asked, the warmth returning to her voice.

"You know what, I think I'll just come back, I'm not in any hurry," Bruce replied apologetically. The young girl in front of him couldn't have been more than eighteen and as naïve as the day was long.

"Oh," she started with less pep than before, "well hopefully you'll come back."

"Sure thing," Bruce said, and bid her goodbye.

She watched his retreating form until he stepped out of the glass door, the bell above ringing behind him. Bruce had hit pay dirt. Her description matched that of Roger Harper, though he couldn't vouch for the coldness in his eyes. Looking west he mentally started pinpointing the location of Roger's realty office from the shop when a siren wailed past going in the opposite direction. He absently followed it with his eyes to see it heading toward Gotham General, which didn't surprise him much. But as Bruce straddled his bike the siren reminded him of something. Some of the victims had been injected with drugs that normally only anesthesiologists had access too.

He'd already found out where the belladonna was from. The next logical step was to find out who had given Harper the drugs to sedate his victims with. Could Harper have been blackmailing a friend or a client that worked at the hospital? Did he know someone on the inside? Gotham General made the most sense location wise considering it was nearest to Henrietta's and Broadway Realty. Still, he'd have to find a way to check all of the hospitals in the areas for missing stocks, though he wasn't quite sure how just yet.

Bruce put on his helmet and started his bike before peeling out of the lot and into traffic. He still had much to discover and the clock was ticking too fast for his taste.

* * *

It was the music that had broken Nicole's concentration at the task at hand. It was old music to be sure, the kind you would hear in a movie from the Forties, but that didn't mean that it was disagreeable. The pleasantness of the sound confused her momentarily, and she briefly thought she was imagining it, until she heard a whimper from across the room.

Nicole tensed at the noises Cassidy made. Normally she ignored the quiet whimpering the other hostage made; though the noises were stressful to hear, she realized it was Cassidy's way of coping with her situation. And although the woman had told her little of what she'd been through, Nicole knew enough about the cases to know that it hadn't exactly been a bed of roses for her.

While Cassidy began panicking, Nicole took the opportunity to discreetly slide the long, flat head nail back underneath the area of sheetrock from whence it came. She had been lucky to find it at all, and wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for the gigantic spider that sent her scurrying from the middle of the floor and haphazardly into the sheetrock. When she'd collided with the bottom of the wall, her nails had unexpectedly caught on something and one had broken painfully. Soon, she had found the head of the nail and had spent the majority of the night working it out. After multiple hours and, at the expense of many fingernails, Nicole had succeeded in pulling the nail out of the cheap sheetrock. Luckily for her, it hadn't been secured very well due to an odd gap in between the two pieces that had been hastily thrown up.

Seconds after Nicole had hidden her prize, the door above her opened, spilling light into the room and she shut her eyes against the bright assault. Cassidy suddenly began screaming shrilly and Nicole wrenched open her eyes against the glare. With a speed she couldn't comprehend, their captor leapt over the wooden railing of the staircase and was on Cassidy in less than a second.

With a resounding _crack_ the man slapped Cassidy so hard that Nicole was sure Cassidy's cheekbone had been broken. But Cassidy only wailed louder, not responding to any of the man's threats. Nicole was frozen with disbelief at the scene before her. There was no way she could help except attract attention to herself and she doubted that with Cassidy going on as she was that it would do any good at all. Above all, Nicole selfishly wanted Cassidy to shut up before she angered their captor any further and made his punishments any worse for them. She'd been beaten more times than she liked already in all honesty.

Finally tired of the wailing, the man covered Cassidy's mouth with one of his large hands and began choking her with the other. Struggling for air, Cassidy stopped screaming and the man removed his hand from her throat, leaving behind red indentations of his fingers that were already turning to bruises. Something unsaid transpired between captor and captive in those moments. Cassidy let herself be freed from her bonds without making so much as a peep. Nicole watched silently, stunned that the girl wouldn't fight back. The defiant screaming was much better than this acquiescent silence.

The man led her across the cellar, hand in hand, with Cassidy trailing behind him like a scared and reluctant tot. As she passed, Nicole looked into Cassidy's eyes and could discover nothing except a temporary absence of something akin to sanity. There was no reaction; no feeling in those eyes, and that scared Nicole more than anything.

Slowly, almost gently, the blond man led the fair haired woman up the steps and guided her through the door, closing it behind him.

Nicole stood in the darkness, gulping in air and trying to calm her nerves. In the few days that she'd been here, in this balmy prison, she'd experienced beatings and intimidation—things that weren't exactly pleasant to deal with. Cassidy had been summoned a few times and returned sullenly. Instinctively she knew that the girl had been raped even if she never said as much. She remembered Stuart telling her that the previous victims had been sexually abused. Even if it hadn't happened to her yet, the threat was still there.

But seeing Cassidy mentally break in front of her and submit to their captor terrified her more than anything that had yet been done to her. Cassidy had abandoned all hope.

Nicole sullenly sank to the ground, terrified. Self perseverance told her that with Cassidy mentally broken, she might be discarded soon, as harsh of a thought as it was. And then the focus would be on her. If Cassidy couldn't survive, she doubted she would have much of a chance. Closing her eyes, she slowly blew out a sigh, suddenly overwhelmed.

_The only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on. _Nicole's head snapped up as the thought ran through her head. She mulled the statement over a few times and slowly broke out into a grin. She imagined how cocky Bruce Wayne would be if she told him it was that statement that gave her hope. In fact, if her plan and his advice actually worked, she'd give him the biggest kiss of his life when she saw him again.

Slowly, she removed the flat head nail from its hiding place and began picking at the lock of the shackles.

* * *

Nicole had been missing for days now. For all the ground and momentum that Bruce and Gordon had gained in such a short time, there were still unanswered questions and time was running out - the next major holiday was only a few days away. Gordon had just confirmed via phone that Harper had been less than cooperative during questioning, especially since he'd lawyered up. But at the Batman's request, he'd asked Roger about Henrietta's and the man had seemed thoroughly confused. Gordon was great at reading people and Bruce believed the Commissioner's doubts, but it put quite a snag in his theory.

Still, Bruce had formed yet another plan. Considering the proximity of Henrietta's and Gotham General, it was likely that the missing drugs had originated from Gotham General. So he called in a favor from Lucius Fox.

Fox had once mentioned that a favorite niece of his was a surgical tech at Gotham General. If there were any drugs being pilfered, chances are she would have heard rumors. And a trusting Uncle was much easier to talk to in casual conversation than the Batman or Bruce Wayne.

Lucius was due to meet with Maureen in the next hour. Until then, there was nothing that Bruce could do but wait. For the first time in almost three days, Bruce settled into an uneasy sleep, if only for a few hours.

* * *

Sweat was dripping down her brow and stinging her eyes as she fiddled with the nail in the oppressively hot room when she heard the slight _click_. She couldn't believe her ears and she slowly removed the nail from the hole of the left shackle and laid it on her jean clad leg. With her right hand, she pulled on the metal bracelet and was overjoyed when it snapped open. Nicole wanted to dance with happiness. Still, she had another shackle to unlock. Knowing what she was doing this time, she was able to unlock the other bracelet in little time. Slowly she laid it on the ground so that it wouldn't make a noise.

Nicole temporarily wondered if she should turn on the ancient cellar light but eventually decided against it. Instead, she shuffled toward the staircase with an outstretched arm until she felt the old, rough, wooden railing. Even though vintage swing music was still wafting through the air, Nicole took her time going up the stairs, not only trying to decrease her noise, but partly due to the fact her ankle was killing her. It had had little chance to heal since its initial injury.

Once she reached the top, she grasped the cool metal knob and hesitated, suddenly afraid. She closed her eyes and repeated the thought that had become her mantra in the past hour: _the only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on_. If she had any hope of saving herself or any chance of helping Cassidy, she would have to risk the escape.

Slowly, Nicole opened the door outward, praying that it wasn't a door that creaked. It wasn't. With a sigh of relief, she slowly shut the door behind her until it clicked. Taking in her surroundings, she realized that she was in the kitchen. The appliances looked like they might have come off the show room floor in 1959. Though they were old, they were white and clean, as was most other stuff in the kitchen. It looked like there had been recent repairs to the area as well. She briefly wondered what kind of sadist would live and murder people in his own home. Seeing that the door to her right bore rusty hinges, she chose to pad across the kitchen slowly toward the open doorway.

The next room wasn't lit well, but she could feel the shag carpet beneath her feet and tell that the walls were painted a dark ruby red. The was a cluster of furniture in the middle covered with a white sheet and she assumed that this must have been the dining room considering the shape of the furniture under the cloth and the proximity to the kitchen. Slowly, she turned to the right and headed for the open doorway.

As she moved forward into the next room, the music grew louder. It was a large area with emerald walls and a couch near the staircase. An old wing back chair sat in the corner in front of two large bookshelves full of leather bound books as well as an antique record player with a stack of records piled nearby. The staircase to her right was made of dark wood with a beige runner on the stairs. She saw the big glass door across from the staircase that led into the enclosed foyer and then the heavy wooden outer door that led onward to freedom.

Just as Nicole warily approached the large glass door, she heard the record player off to her left begin to skip. Fear seized her as she listened to the creaking noises upstairs stop, followed by footsteps coming her way. Slowly, she backed into a table, but was able to catch the lamp before it clattered to the ground. The steps were too close to allow her to bolt for the door, so she ran into the dining room and dove under the white sheet.

Her heart pounding, she scooted back as far as was allowed as she crouched on her stomach, trying to peer out from under the sheet.

She saw his bare feet step off of the bottom stair as she sat perfectly still. Still jovially singing the song that had stopped playing, he dusted off the record and replaced it. Glenn Miller started right back up and she cringed at the loudness of the music. He began to ascend the stairs when he stalled momentarily and slowly descended again.

Suddenly Nicole realized that not only was the lampshade ajar, but she hadn't put the lamp in its proper place. The man studied it, the song gone out of him, and turned slowly toward the dining room. Nicole sat absolutely still until he passed and exited the rear of the room through the open doorway on the left.

Nicole's eyes widened when she realized where he was going. She bolted out from under the sheet, miraculously not making any noise and ran with a limp silently to the large glass door; thankfully there weren't any creaky floorboards on the way. Upon reaching the cool glass, she turned the knob and realized that it was locked. Dumbly she stared at the handle.

_The only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on._

Nicole realized her options were to break through the glass and hope to get the solid wooden door open in time or to flee upstairs and find an exit. Her time was up. She could see the small hallway on the other side of the staircase with a closed door with rusted hinges. The same door she'd refused to use in the kitchen. The same door that would soon be opening. Nicole bolted up the staircase as she heard the cellar door being thrown aside without abandon.

The upstairs hallway was dark since most of the doors were closed. There were five to choose from and she went for the one at the end of the hall and to the left, since there was a little bit of light visible from underneath it. Hastily, she threw open the door and found Cassidy lying on an old iron double bed, completely naked, with a vacant look in her eyes. She could hear the bellows of rage coming from below. She had only seconds.

"Cassidy! Get up! We have to go! It's time to leave!"

Cassidy barely moved, tears blurring her vision.

Without waiting for a response, Nicole ran to the window, only to see a two story drop and the nearest town home a few yards away. The only other door led was another entrance to the bathroom that had been at the end of the hallway. There was no exit from this room for them.

Nicole could hear the footsteps pounding up the stairs. She snatched Cassidy up and began dragging the girl behind her. She ran into the room across the hall and softly shut the door as Cassidy just stood there, naked and confused.

Nicole frantically began searching for a way out, for a phone, for a weapon, for _anything_, but there was nothing. The room was neat and clean and obviously a male's room from the décor. But none of those details helped Nicole when the door behind her was suddenly thrust open.

"What the _fuck _do you think you're doing in this room?"

The ire in the man's eyes burned through as Nicole she realized she'd accidently gone into his sacred lair.

As he stalked closer, Nicole instinctively stood in front of Cassidy, shielding her without answering.

"OH, Protecting _HER_ again? I guess you really don't learn well do you cunt? Is she even worth it? Look at her? She's lost her marbles. She's _GONE. BROKEN_. Just another piece of trash!"

"If you ask me, you're the one who's _broken_" Nicole spat back with venom. "I mean you're fucking nuts! Who the hell kidnaps women and keeps them chained up in a basement. What, did mommy not love you enough? Or did mommy love you a little _too_ much?

The blond man reached out and grabbed Nicole's shirt, tearing it open as he slammed her into the wall.

"Oh you're going to see how functional I am, sweetheart. You see you're right; I do have "mommy" issues. She was an ungrateful whore. Just. Like. You. And you know what happened to her? Hm? She got what she deserved."

Before Nicole could retort, a lamp came crashing down on her captor's head. He dropped to his knees, momentarily stunned as Nicole stood in awe of Cassidy.

"Go! Run!"

And Nicole did until she reached the stairs.

"Take one more step and Cassidy dies," the monster boomed from behind her.

Nicole stopped, peering at the glass door at the end of the stairs. She was so close to freedom.

"Turn around."

Gnashing her teeth, Nicole did so and although she expected it, she was still surprised to see him holding Cassidy with a silver knife pressed to her throat. Running wasn't an option anymore.

_The only way to conquer and have control over your fear is to face it head on._

"Walk, back down to the cellar slowly. Don't try anything. If you do, I'll slit her throat," he stated calmly if as if this was an everyday occurrence. Hell, maybe it was for him, she considered.

Nicole obeyed and slowly they reached the cellar without another word. As she stepped onto the upper landing, she felt the kick to her back and she tumbled down the steps head first. She hit the concrete with a grunt and fought the urge to curl into the fetal position.

"You! In the corner," he ordered above her.

She was vaguely aware of Cassidy stepping over her. She was definitely aware of the pain when she was yanked up hair first from the ground. She struck out blindly and made contact. Her reward was a knee to the ribs and a punch to her face. Suddenly she was flung against the wall and felt the cool metal blade bite into the front of her neck.

"You know, you've got spirit, I'll give you that," he purred, his lips so close to hers that she thought he might try to kiss her. He pulled away slightly. "But it seems we'll have to do something a little…ah…different for you."

He pushed her over to the corner where Cassidy stood, trying to cover her nakedness. At least she had returned to a state of semi-awareness.

"You see, _hero_, she's just a little slut. And I'd broken her. She'd learned to obey me. But then, well, I'll never understand why she tried to help you. But there's a price to pay for everything you do, and its time for you to begin to learn that lesson."

Suddenly, he grabbed her around the waist. "I've been thinking about what to do with you for days, Nicole Miller. You're a hard one to crack. How could I get a rise out of you? And then it occurred to me, that you like to fancy yourself a hero. And heroes always have a weakness. But I couldn't quite find your fatal flaw until just a few moments ago."

Nicole struggled against his hard body in vain but his hold was too tight. With more power than was necessary, he grabbed her clenched fist and pried it open as he stood behind her, the two locked in a hateful embrace. He lowered the knife from her throat and Nicole lamented that she couldn't fight back during this opportunity. With his left hand, he placed the black hilt of the dagger into her right hand and closed her fingers around it. She wanted to slash at him; to drop the knife; to do anything but hold the warm weapon.

"You see, normally, I like this part. The judgment. Oh I've let a few go in the past that were worthy…but now every one of you I bring home is guilty of something. But tell you what: I'll make you a deal. You punish Cassidy-you slit her throat-I let you walk. It's that easy Nicole. Take her life. Show me your true nature, and I'll let you walk out of this place alive."

Nicole stared into Cassidy's frightened eyes. "No," Nicole choked out. "I won't. I can't."

"Sure you can sweetheart! Just press the knife into her neck. Cut the carotid artery. It's so easy"

He held her arm as he lightly demonstrated the motion, forcing her to scratch Cassidy's neck while Cassidy began to quiver with fear.

"No. I won't. I won't take her life," Nicole frantically asserted.

Cassidy let out a sigh of relief that earned a sideways glance from the blond man.

"Oh well," the man said, deflated, as he lowered his head into Nicole's hair and breathed her raw scent in.

Nicole felt the man tense behind her, but before she could react, he lunged, still holding her hand in a vice like grip and plunged the knife up to the hilt into the middle of Cassidy's throat.

Nicole's eyes widened in disbelief as she felt the blade sink into the alabaster flesh with little resistance. She tried to remove the knife as she stared into Cassidy's eyes in horror but the man's strength was too much for her.

Cassidy's mouth dropped open, full of blood that began leaking down her chin, and emitted a gurgle as she fought for oxygen. Cassidy's eyes were filled with shock and pain, and Nicole could sense a feeling of betrayal as they gazed into her soul.

"Eh, this is gonna get messy sweetheart. It's better to slit, but hey I'm not complaining. We'll do it like this," he stated, his grip never lessening on Nicole's body and fist as he forced her to slide the blade through the soft flesh and crunchy bone until Cassidy was nearly decapitated.

He pulled Nicole back as Cassidy's marred and lifeless body dropped to the ground, voiding itself of bowels and blood during its throes of death as it did so.

"Well, how does it feel now, eh _hero? _What a great job you did for your first time! You understand that you forced my hand in this don't you," he asked, giggling. "You get it right? The pun? Oh I see, my humor is lost on you," he commented when he saw the look on her face.

The man drug a shell shocked Nicole backwards and gently removed the knife from her hand before violently shoving her to the ground, sending her sprawling toward the body.

"It's going to get pretty ripe in here with that mess in the corner. I'd really hate to be you right now. But I think you need to think about the consequences of your actions, don't you," he asked mockingly as he backed up the stairs. "Oh, I wouldn't try to escape again either. The door will be barricaded on the outside, just so you're aware. There's no use in shackling you back up since you found a way out the first time. I hope you enjoyed your little escape attempt. Don't let it happen again."

The door slammed without an answer, sucking all of the light and hope out of the room with it. Nicole tried to get up but her ankle gave out from the abuse and she found herself back on the ground with a grunt. It wasn't until some of the pain subsided that she felt the warm, sticky, wetness on her hand that she realized her hand had landed in the ever growing puddle of viscous, maroon blood. Blood that had once been Cassidy's she realized.

She removed her hand as if it were burnt by fire, wiping at her tattered shirt, trying to rid the life force from her skin as if it were the infected by the plague. Suddenly, Nicole was overcome by the gravity of the situation and began heaving and expelled what little content her stomach held. After a few more times, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sought a corner far away from Cassidy's limp body. For the first time since her capture, Nicole wept violently, choking on sobs and rocking back and forth on the nasty basement floor, consumed with fear and guilt. And then Nicole did something she hadn't done in a long time—she prayed—begged really—that someone would find her before it was too late. It was almost the Fourth of July.


End file.
